The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril (33 page)

The voice seemed wrong coming out of the dark
embodiment of malice. It was Ivy's own, riddled with agony and
fear. Myranda looked to the fifth product of Demont's meddling. The
image drove itself deep into her memory. She'd seen him before,
though never his face. His was the soul that had selected her for
this quest. His was the sword that had brought her such trouble.
His were the rations that saved her life that night. Somehow, the
swordsman that she'd found dead in the field so long ago stood
before her now, alive.

A wave of brilliant gold light swept outward
from the point where sword had touched flesh. It draped itself
along the weapon, and along Ivy's arm. The creature, squealing in
pain and a look of desperation in her eye, released the weapon and
rushed backward. The light continued along her arm, leaving white
fur where black had been. She dropped to her knees on the now mist
free floor and clutched at her chest as the mark burned at her.

As the wave of gold reached the flesh of the
swordsman, he grimaced in pain as well. A network of black lines
that formed intricate strings of runes shone a brilliant blood red.
Enhancements, alterations, and other manipulations left by Demont
reacted with the wave of divine energy. Thoughts and commands
implanted by the D'karon generals burned and sizzled in his mind.
That which was D'karon and that which was Chosen battled each
other. Soon he was little more than a mass of shifting mystical
lights in the shape of a man.

Ivy struggled to her feet. The burning was
slowly dropping away, and she was once again herself. Her crimes
against The Mark had been minor. She'd approached the swordsman, a
fellow Chosen, in battle with hatred in her heart and every
intention to kill him. Perhaps another day such an act would have
drawn a far greater price, but there was precious little left of
what the gods had intended in that warrior. Now the man who would
have been the leader of the divine warriors was receiving a
punishment that his slumber of death had spared him. Much of his
mind, body, and soul were now replaced with D'karon. The Mark would
not allow that. It burned at him, rendering away the tainted parts
at the expense of the rest.

Ivy backed away unsteadily as she watched the
Swordsman consumed by the same divine fire that had destroyed
Trigorah. Myranda rushed to her. The confused creature, recovering
from the emotion that had seized control, looked desperately to
Myranda for some sort of reassurance, but the wizard had none to
give. A threatening glow on the other side of the room drew their
attention.

The barrier Myranda had erected around the
crystals had been intended to keep their power in, not to keep them
from absorbing more. It was an oversight she might not live to
regret. The mist may have been dispelled, but in the brilliant
spectacle of The Mark's wrath they had found a far greater meal.
Another crystal burst.

It was one more blast than the weakened floor
could stand. Ancient and decrepit stones, made more so by Ivy's
mist, finally shattered, spilling the whole of the mound of
crystals and a fair amount of the throne room onto whatever
recesses lie below. Myranda could only spare a moment's glance into
the widening hole, but what she saw chilled her. Shadowy, vaguely
human forms, bathed in the blue light of the fallen gems. She could
not be certain, but it seemed that they were incomplete . . . as
though they were in the process of being assembled. As the edge of
the hole crept closer, she knew that this was a concern for another
day. She grabbed Ivy and rushed to the door.

“What are we going to do?!” Ivy begged.

Myranda looked over the heavy wooden portal.
The spell sealing it had been weakened, but not nearly as much as
the door itself had been. The lowest portion of the door was little
more than sparse splinters held together by dusty gray fibers of
wood. She gave it a kick and nearly half of the door dropped away
in a rush of powder. Ivy did not need to be told what to do next.
She scrambled underneath, poking her head back to urge Myranda to
do the same. The young wizard lingered for a moment.

The light coruscating over the body of the
swordsman was different now. It seemed darker, mixed with something
less pure. And it wasn't weakening. The man's face was lost in a
pool of light, but somehow she knew that if she could see it, it
would be riddled with conflict, as though the D'karon part of him
was actively resisting the divine power . . . or worse, feeding on
it. She looked to the human Ivy had called Aneriana. A flicker of
understanding . . . of purpose came to her eyes. She turned to the
swirling mass of energy. It brandished the weapon, now somehow in
control despite the turmoil that consumed it. Myranda slipped under
the door as the pair rushed toward each other. The force from the
clash, even from the other side of the wall, was enough to stagger
the two heroes.

“Is she going to be all right?” Ivy asked,
worry in her voice.

“She's bought us a precious few moments, we
can't afford to waste a single one!” Myranda said, leading Ivy
quickly forward.

She retraced her path through the castle's
halls. Every few moments something between an explosion and an
earthquake would shake the very walls, but they did not slow.
Finally they reached the entry hall. Ivy's eyes widened at the site
of Myn. The massive creature was bracing the shreds of what had
once been a mighty door. Now it was little more than a collection
of splintered holes through which the weapons of countless nearmen
clashed and clanged.

“Is . . . is that . . . “ Ivy asked, slow to
believe that this great creature could possibly be the little one
she'd known.

She drew in a deep breath. Her nose wouldn't
lie.

“It IS!” she cried, rushing to the dragon and
throwing her arms about the creature's neck. “How could she be
alive! What happened?”

“I'll explain later, just get on!” Myranda
cried.

Ivy hastily obeyed, hopping to Myn's back
right behind Myranda. Without a word from Myranda, Myn knew what to
do. She backed away and crouched like a coiled spring. The ailing
door gave way moments later, and a flood of soldiers was met
instantly with a massive beast cannoning out against them. They
were tossed easily aside and, after a few wading strides through
the throng of attackers, Myn thrust herself into the air. Myranda
again devoted her mind to deflecting the thick volleys of arrows
that hissed toward them. So taxing was the task that she was only
vaguely aware of the tightening grip Ivy had on her waist.

“Is she . . . are we . . . “ Ivy managed to
gasp before fear took her words away.

The sight of the shrinking landscape beneath
her burned her mind with fear. Only when they were out of bow range
did Myranda notice that Ivy’s arms were wrapped painfully tight
about her. She turned to see a brilliant blue aura and an
unmistakable look of still mounting fear in her eyes. Myranda
forced sleep upon the terrified creature, and not a moment too
soon, as the crystals within the castle finally reached their
breaking point all at once. The force from the blast was like
nothing Myranda had ever felt. Even from so far above, the rushing
wind and crackling energy rattled the heroes, knocking the now limp
Ivy from her perch atop Myn. The dragon skillfully plucked up the
plummeting form and wrapped Ivy in her tail for safe transport.
Once Myranda was sure that Ivy was no longer in danger, she turned
back to the spectacle, which raged on still. Brilliant columns of
azure fire billowed amid a haze of blinding white light. What had
once been the castle of her great land was now a settling cloud of
shattered debris. Whole arches soared through the air. Ramparts
crashed to earth, demolishing already ruined buildings.

The sight should have stirred memories of the
massacre, surges of guilt that she'd caused this destruction in the
place of her birth, or any number of other emotions. Anyone present
could have explained why it didn't. In the presence of such power,
chaos, there was simply no room for it in one's mind. Watching the
landscape shudder. Seeing trees bend aside like grass in a breeze.
Feeling the searing heat from hundreds of feet away. Feeling the
rumbling roar in one's chest long after it had robbed the ears of
their hearing. There was simply no time for thought or remembrance.
It was all washed away in a tide of awe. It was a long moment
before Myranda and Myn had the presence of mind to make their
escape, but when they did it was with a speed none who would pursue
them could hope to match.

Myranda made a brief attempt to locate her
next target, but her head was still swimming after the ordeal.
Instead she used the flight to gather her mind. She directed Myn
vaguely north and east. There was no telling where the others were,
save the fact that they were in the north. If she kept to the
center of the Northern Alliance she at least would not be far. With
the power that had forced its way into her mind during the search
spent, Myranda finally felt the night air in all of its painful
chill. She sifted through the enchantments contained within her
stolen staff, but it came as no surprise when no spell that could
bring her comfort presented itself. It was meant to be wielded by a
nearman, and they didn't seem to suffer from any of the effects of
cold, or hunger, or fatigue. Myranda dipped into her own quavering
spirit and cast a warming spell. Periodically Myn would huff a
flame that sent a surge of heat through her veins. The creature did
so in a practiced manner, such that the merest whisper of light
left her mouth.

Now that the cold was dealt with, and hunger
was a nagging concern at best, Myranda was left with the
unfortunate task of sorting through the images that she'd been
forced to thrust aside in the rush of battle. Those new buildings
she'd seen in Kenvard. They were D'karon, that was certain. The
D'karon had a way of stripping the soul from things, leaving behind
only what was needed to perform the task. The thin smoke and vile
smell that she'd encountered matched that of Demont's fort
perfectly. That had been a place where the horrid beasts she'd
encountered were manufactured. So then must Kenvard have served as
a source for them. The brief flash of the catacombs beneath the
castle forced its way to her mind. Nearmen, half completed, had
stood in countless rows. The abominations had to be made somewhere.
Kenvard must have been that place. Her stomach churned at the
thought. They had extinguished the whole of a city, killed all of
its people, and for what? To craft shallow replicas? To produce
lumber to be cast into the flames of war to keep them burning?

There was another reason, though. To get Ivy.
Myranda looked back to the sleeping form of her friend. She'd
behaved very strangely when the woman stepped from behind the third
door. Ivy had recognized her. Even more strangely, she had claimed
that the woman looked “too old.” And after the hate had taken her
over she remained concerned with the human's safety, calling her by
name, Aneriana. The name echoed deep into Myranda's memories,
taking her back to the days in Kenvard. Aneriana was indeed a name
she'd heard often. It was certainly the name of a talented young
girl that her mother had taught. It was Ivy's true name, the person
she had been before the D'karon had claimed her.

Questions boiled in Myranda's mind. What had
happened to Aneriana in the years since her soul was stolen? What
had Demont done to her? What had he planned to do? And how was it
that even without her soul she'd been able to stand up to the
swordsman's raging chaotic form? For that matter, how had she known
that she should? And what of the swordsman? What had been happening
to him? How had they managed to bring him back? If anyone had any
answers, it was the D'karon. There may as well be no answers at
all. Knowing that only made the flames burn brighter in her
mind.

The clouds above began to lighten. Myranda
looked over the landscape sprawling beneath them. There was no
sufficiently dense stand of trees to hide them for the day, and
after the commotion they'd stirred up it was suicide to remain in
the open. Finally, finding no better solution, Myranda guided Myn
to a rundown barn a short distance from the edge of a small lake.
After a glance inside to find it mostly empty, Myn cautiously
slaked her thirst at the lakeside before slipping inside, keeping a
watchful eye on the frosty surface. The dragon settled down and
scooped both Ivy and Myranda into her embrace. Wrapped in the
warmth of her friend and exhausted from the day's trials, Myranda
slipped quickly into a deep sleep. Myn followed suit.

The short day was half over before Ivy,
forced into sleep for the duration of the journey, finally awoke.
She felt refreshed, and for the moment was mercifully free of her
memories of the confrontation in the throne room. After a brief
feeling of panic upon finding herself in the clutches of a dragon,
she realized she was among friends. A careful, tricky bit of
maneuvering extricated her from Myn's grasp and she stretched her
sore muscles. She had a quick look over the dusty, disused barn,
then turned to Myn. It was the first good look she'd had at the
dragon since she'd returned. Myn was enormous now. A real dragon,
not the baby she remembered. At the same time, though, everything
she remembered remained. The same ruby hues. The same graceful
lines. It was still Myn, still familiar, just tenfold the power,
and tenfold the majesty.

Slowly Myn became aware, even in her sleep,
that part of her precious cargo was missing. Her golden eyes opened
and settled quickly on Ivy. After beaming a broad grin, the playful
creature carefully stepped in and wrapped Myn's neck in a tight
embrace, planting a kiss on her cheek. After lavishing affection
for a few moments more, Ivy stepped back, a finger to her lips and
pointing at the slumbering Myranda. Myn gripped the sleeping wizard
a bit tighter and watched Ivy with interest as she prowled about
the barn once more, rubbing her stomach absentmindedly.