The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril (43 page)

Epidime turned his focus to this new threat,
directing his will to the failing restraints as he charged at her.
The iron grips tightened, causing Ivy to falter and crouch lower to
the wall. The charging halberd bearer was mere steps away when the
stone that anchored the tendrils finally gave way. Ivy uncoiled and
cannoned into the form barreling toward her. The pair became a
tumbling tangle of flailing limbs and brilliant light. Drawing upon
instincts and training deep within Lain's mind, Epidime shifted and
angled his body with each roll. Finally, planting his feet on Ivy's
midsection, he launched her off of him and rolled to his feet in a
single, fluid motion. Before his eyes Ivy pivoted in midair,
landing in a dead run.

The dark wizard had scarcely the time to
admire the poetry in motion he'd witnessed before he was forced to
ready his weapon. What followed was a true sight to behold. Two
minds, each rivaled only by the other in acuteness of the senses
and sharpness of the reflexes, engaged in the most unusual of
battles. Epidime knew not what to think. Ivy was attacking, but she
wasn't. In motions both graceful and awkward she was bobbing,
weaving, lunging and diving. Now she reached toward the retreating
halberd, now she backed away. She seemed to have no interest
whatsoever in striking Epidime himself. It was not until she
finally succeeded that Epidime understood her goal.

Ivy's fingers closed around the shaft of the
halberd, grasping the weapon just below Epidime's own grip.
Steadying herself, Ivy attempted to tear it away from him, but it
would not move. Epidime contorted Lain's face into an out of place,
sinister grin once again. There was a flare of light within his
crystal and the whole of the halberd seemed to darken. It had been
black before, but now it seemed to devour the light around it until
it was little more than a shaft of pure, ebony midnight. The
surface was cold, an agonizing, sizzling cold that burned and bit
at Ivy's hands, but her grip would not relent. She stared into his
eyes, through them, into his soul. Epidime stared back at her, his
madness in Lain's eyes.

“Remove the evil weapon and it will release
your friend, eh? A clever realization. I wouldn't have thought one
of your surging transformations capable of such an epiphany.
Intriguing. Blue is fear, red is anger, but what is white? Is it
hate? Is it love? Is it an emotion at all? Or have you somehow
learned to control what we've done to you? Only one way to find
out, I suppose,” he mused as the pair struggled against one
another.

The crystal flared again. Instantly the
burning in Ivy's hands was joined by a pressure on her mind, an
unwanted influence trying to work its way in. In its natural state,
Ivy's mind would have been simple to enter, but there was nothing
natural about the state her mind was in now. It was consumed by a
singular, pure, all-encompassing purpose. A will hard as diamond
poured energy from her. Epidime fought the current, pouring more
and more of his will to the task.

“You may be able to resist me now . . . but
you cannot keep this up for long, can you?” Epidime managed to
taunt.

Suddenly Ivy lurched forward. Lain's body and
Epidime's mind had been fully committed to keeping Ivy from pulling
away the weapon. Now she was pushing. Before he could compensate,
Epidime found himself running backward to keep from falling. He
withdrew from her mind to probe for Lain's instincts once more.
Just as the perfect counter maneuver surfaced, time ran out. The
pair met the wall with crushing force. Lain collided with the
narrow section of wall beside the entryway. A heartbeat later Ivy
collided with him. The wind rushed from his lungs, but he did not
release the weapon. Suddenly Ivy buckled to the ground as even
through her clothes the burning of her mark became visible.

“Lain is still a Chosen. Every action against
him is a knife in your own back!” Epidime gloated.

The blazing white aura about Ivy had faded
somewhat, but still she held firm. As The Mark finished meting out
its punishment, she climbed to her feet and resumed her tug of war
on the halberd. Epidime staggered a bit before he managed to mount
an effective resistance again. The general opened his mouth to
issue another taunt, but something interrupted him. Something
tightened about his waist with crushing strength. He looked down to
see a bundle of muscle and gleaming red scales pulled taught around
him. A glance over his shoulder revealed that he'd let his
attentions stray too far form the task of controlling the metal
vines. Myn had managed to bend and rend enough of them to snake her
tail through, and now it was locked about him with every ounce of
strength the dragon could muster. She didn't understand what was
happening, but she didn't need to. The only thing that mattered was
getting her friend away from this place, and she meant to do
it.

The dragon pulled in one direction, the
malthrope in the other. Lain's body dangled off of the ground,
bones creaking and tendons straining. Epidime split his mind
between the tasks of augmenting Lain's failing muscles enough to
maintain his grip and summoning a spell that would end the
meddlesome dragon. His joints popped and twisted, sending a shudder
of pain through Ivy and Myn alike as their actions took their toll
on a fellow Chosen. The hesitation was enough of an opening for him
to launch the spell, a ball of crackling black energy, at the
dragon. He watched with morbid interest as it streaked through the
air. A shimmering wall manifested in the path of the destructive
spell, dispersing it. At the same time Epidime could feel his
fingers being levered open by an unseen force. He turned his head
and spat a string of placeless syllables, words never before
uttered in this world but nonetheless understood for the
profanities they were. Myranda was standing, free, with her staff
in hand.

With Epidime's mind otherwise occupied,
Myranda had managed to escape from her restraints. Now she focused
all that she had into loosening Epidime's grip. For a few long
moments the only sounds were the crackle of bones and the stifled
agony of Myn, Ivy, and Myranda as they incurred the wrath of their
marks. Finally Lain's fingers opened. Ivy was thrown back, the
weapon hurling from her fingers. As Lain's body fell motionless
from Myn's grip, the halberd took a wild, clattering path across
the ground, screeching to a stop. A moment later the crystal flared
and it launched itself toward them. The heroes braced themselves.
There was an ear shattering clash as the weapon struck
something.

There, twisting and shaking to get free, was
the halberd. Locked about it were the crumbling fingers of Ether.
Powerful arcs of black magic were surging from the weapon,
splashing against her stony form and pushing back the others. The
shape shifter staggered to her feet and took a few unsteady steps
before a thick bolt of power shattered one of her legs. She dropped
to the ground. The failing glow that was her eyes shifted about the
floor. Finally she gripped the halberd with her other hand and with
one final heave, lurched into the channel carved into the
floor.

There was the crackle and scrape of stone on
stone as she plummeted down the narrow crevice, but Ether's grip
held. A moment later the bundle of stone and weapon was driven deep
into a thick, molten flow. The halberd shuddered as its metal took
on a brilliant glow. The air buzzed about it one last time before
it was swallowed by the liquid stone. The still faintly flickering
form of Ivy strode to the edge of the channel and peered into the
glowing depths. Assured that her task was complete, the
transformation released her and she collapsed to the ground, eyes
still faintly open.

“Wha- What?” she panicked, struggling against
restraints that weren't there.

Myranda rushed to her and pulled her away
from the edge. Ivy slowly realized that something had happened.

“I . . . Did I do something?” she asked,
climbing shakily to her feet.

“You did so much,” Myranda said, helping her.
“But come, we need to help Lain and get him out of here.”

The mention of Lain's name shook the cob webs
from Ivy's mind. She hurried to his side, but skidded to a
stop.

“What is happening?” she cried.

There was the sickening pop of joints pulling
back into place on their own amid sudden jerking motions. He was
rising to his feet unnaturally, seemingly hanging from unseen
threads that pulled him upright with little concern for things like
gravity or balance. The writhing of the metal tendrils near the
door began anew, forcing Myn further into the narrow tunnel. Lain's
head lifted and his eyes opened. An awful, impossible smile came to
his face.

“No . . . It isn’t possible!” Myranda said in
horror.

In a blur of motion Lain's fingers were about
her neck, closing with strength they shouldn't have. He lifted her
from the ground.

“You are to be commended. I took up the
halberd centuries ago. No one until now has been able to destroy
it,” he said.

Myranda tried to put her mind to a spell but
he sent her crashing to the ground with a vicious throw. With the
wizard dazed, he raised his hands to finish the job. Ivy dove onto
his back.

“You can't be Epidime!” she cried.

A pulse of magic threw her from his back. He
turned and stalked toward her, the greater threat. The same
darkness that had encompassed his weapon now seemed to be pooling
about his hands, trailing from them as he walked. He grasped at the
air and Ivy suddenly felt a crushing force about her. She was
hoisted into the air and held before him. Slowly, he paced toward
the channel of lava with her.

“A weakness is a useful thing, Ivy,” he said
calmly, as though to a student. “Once those who would destroy you
discover it, it is all that they target. It makes people
predictable. They rely upon it, expend all of their energy on it. I
don't have a weakness, so I provided myself with one.”

With his other hand he willed Myranda into
the air.

“It is just as well you destroyed it. In the
years since I selected the halberd I've been through the minds of
hundreds of warriors skilled in thousands of other weapons. In
truth I was beginning to feel constrained. In the future I shall
have to select something more benign. A medallion, or a ring,
perhaps.”

Myranda's eyes slowly came into focus. She
raised her hand, only to have it pinned down again. The blow had
dizzied her, but already her senses were returning. She focused her
mind on Lain. Not the body, but the soul within. Epidime was on the
surface now, a greasy black slick in her mind's eye, staining
Lain's form with his influence. Far behind it was the tiniest
flicker of the soul she knew. She reached out to it.

“No, no, no. That will not do,” Epidime
scolded.

With a flick of his fingers Myranda was
hurled to the center of the room, bouncing painfully against the
spire that had held Lain. She fell, barely catching the scalding
hot edge of the channel. Instantly there came a crash strong enough
to shake the walls, then another. Epidime turned to find Myn
throwing herself against the entryway. Cracks were creeping along
the walls. What remained of the metal vines were little more than
twisted, useless lengths of metal. With one final heave she
shattered a piece of the wall away, charging into the chamber. The
dragon pounded past Epidime and skidded to a stop at the edge of
the channel, scooping Myranda to safety. She then turned to
Epidime, a look of betrayal in her eyes.

“Ah, Myn. You bring an interesting mix of
emotions to Lain's head. Surprise, relief,” Epidime said, eying the
gashes the creature had suffered in her attempts to enter.
“Concern. I wouldn't have thought the old assassin capable.”

Myn was growling, though the word was not
conceived with a dragon in mind. It was a sound like distant,
rolling thunder. It was a sound that shook the earth. Epidime
dropped Ivy unceremoniously from his grip.

“Well, Myn, what will it be?” Epidime
said.

Myn took a few significant steps toward him,
placing the stricken heroes behind her.

“You know, I have the greatest respect for
dragons. They have minds capable of great wisdom. Far greater than
most mortals, given the time to develop it. Unfortunately the
assortment of instincts that keeps you alive in the wild is, alas,
ill suited to understanding abstract concepts. You thus cannot be
blamed for your failure to grasp why your beloved Lain has begun to
act so strangely. Nor can you be expected to realize that standing
between a wizard and his target is a worthless and foolish
gesture,” Epidime explained slowly.

Myranda and Ivy cried out simultaneously. Myn
turned to see waves of black energy burning around them like dark
flames. She turned back to find Epidime volleying a pair of attacks
at her. As the crackling energy splashed across her scales,
blistering them in a way that no fire could and wracking her with
pain, the part of her that would not allow her to hurt Lain was
finally pushed aside by a far more fundamental instinct. In a blur
of movement Myn pounced on Lain, pinning him to the ground beneath
a massive fore claw. Her talons curled over his shoulders, cleaving
the stone on either side of his head. Instantly she felt the burn
of divine punishment surge outward from The Mark on her wing.

“Cruel, isn't it?” Epidime wheezed. “The Mark
punishes you for disloyalty to the cause, and in doing so has made
you helpless. As I said, it is the rules of the game that have
beaten you.”

A flex of his mind lifted Myn into the air
and launched her at the spire in the center of the room. She
shattered through it and slid to a stop on the opposite side,
writhing in pain. Lain's body rose from the ground and alighted on
his feet.

“Now I am afraid it is time to . . . “
Epidime began.