The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril (44 page)

There was a new rumbling now, one that made
the growl of the dragon seem like a kitten's purr. The whole
mountain was shaking. Without the spire in its center, the circular
channel was nothing more than a pit, and from within it came a glow
like the fires of hell. It grew brighter, and the rumble louder,
until the very ceiling seemed ready to collapse. There emerged from
the pit a massive form, glowing like the inside of a kiln and
throwing off a heat to match. It was Ether. A few minutes immersed
in the molten lifeblood of the mountain had brought her a strength
she'd not known for thousands of years.

The shape shifter climbed out of the hole,
stooping to fit in the chamber. The floor beneath her feet melted
and boiled. Her eyes, brilliant golden pools set in a radiant
crimson face, turned to Epidime, who stepped toward her.

“Resilient little things, aren't you? This is
all very impressive. What will you do now? Kill me? I do hope so.
It would destroy you, and after this demonstration I must say I am
not sure how else to achieve it,” he taunted, stepping so close
that the heat that poured off of her was beginning to make his fur
scorch and smoke.

Ether moved cautiously away from him, but he
pressed closer. The black fire continued to plunge the others into
mind searing agony, and soon began to roil across the body of the
slowly recovering dragon. The shape shifter had never been so
powerful, and yet had never been so helpless. There was nothing she
could do to stop his magic from doing its work without hurting or
killing Lain. Epidime stepped closer still. The bandages on Lain's
chest began to smolder, blacken, and fall away. Beneath, there was
the glint of gold.

Lain's face wore a look of arrogant
satisfaction as he brought up another cascade of black fire to
torment Ether's massive form. Deep in his mind, Epidime knew that
the easiest, most certain way of destroying Ether was to coax her
into destroying a fellow Chosen, but doing so may take time and the
others could not be allowed to escape, so he turned his attentions
to them. The spells were doing their work, dark flames sapping what
little strength they had left, but these were durable creatures,
resilient and resourceful. The magic had always been quite enough
in the past, but not this time. No matter. If magic alone was not
enough there were simpler ways. He approached Ivy and picked up a
stone that had been dislodged from the ceiling. He raised it. He
brought it down.

One of his legs faltered, sending him
stumbling back and shattering the stone on the ground. Epidime
grunted in anger. Something was wrong. He could feel the spells
holding the others at bay tapering off. He poured more of his will
into them until they met with his satisfaction and attempted to
approach his prey once more, but his leg would not obey. Just as a
dim realization came to his mind, his left hand shot to his chest,
claws closing about the gleaming golden badge hidden beneath the
bandages there. He gripped the fingers with his right hand and
attempted to pry them free, but slowly the golden disc began to
pull away. Beneath it a brilliant gold light began to flare.

“Think about this, Lain. This will only
destroy you. You are doing my work for me,” Epidime urged, the
beginnings of pain in his voice as the spirit of Lain fought to
regain control.

Still the fingers did their work.

Epidime sighed in frustration and extended
his right hand to the glowing pit in the center of the chamber,
twisting the fingers into an arcane gesture.

“It is my own fault, of course. I
overextended myself. I shall have to resort to a somewhat less
elegant contingency plan,” he struggled to say.

There was a flash of mystic light in his
eyes. Instantly the bowels of the mountain began to stir, rattling
the whole of the chamber and producing an ominous rumble from its
central pit. Finally the golden seal was torn from his chest and he
cried out in a howl of pain that seemed to echo with two voices at
once. He wavered and finally dropped to the ground. At the same
moment the dark flames that tore at his allies wafted away. Myranda
struggled to her feet and rushed to Lain just as the divine light
of his mark faded to nothing.

Lain was alive, but whatever vitality Epidime
had brought to the tortured form had left with him. He was weak,
drawing slow and painful breaths in a sort of half consciousness.
Myranda tried to pull her weakened mind to the task of offering
some sort of aid, but she hadn't the strength for the simplest of
healing spells. Epidime's attacks had cut deeper than any physical
attack could.

“Is he alright? Is he . . . is he Lain
again?” Ivy asked as she limped to Myranda's side, handing her the
staff.

The ailing Myn joined them a moment later,
nosing the half-dead form of Lain. Her eyes were a swirl of sorrow,
concern, and guilt.

“He's Lain,” Myranda assured, sensing nothing
of the influence that had tainted him before. “but he is hurt
badly. He needs help, or I don't know how much longer he will
last.”

“Get him out of this place. Epidime has
started something that I am not certain I can stop!” Ether
declared, looking down into the growing glow within the pit in the
chamber's center.

“Myn, you can move far more surely than we
can in this place. Can you get us to the outside?” Myranda
asked.

Myn responded by crouching low. Lain was
loaded onto her back and the others joined him.

“I will hold it as long as I can,” Ether
said. “But go, quickly! It will not be for long!”

With that she dove back into the pit. Myn
launched herself out into the tunnel. Her sensitive nose following
the scent of fresh air. Her injuries were many, but she forced the
pain aside. She had a job to do now, and she would succeed. She
navigated the darkened corridors with catlike grace. The crooked,
roundabout path that had brought them here was abandoned for what
seemed to be a far more direct and more traveled one. Before long
the air began to carry the chill of the still raging storm outside.
There was the sound of crushing collapse behind them, followed by a
rush of hot air. Then came a long, low rumble. The roar grew
steadily, growing sharper and more distinct. Soon it was joined by
a hot wind and amber glow from behind. Not a moment too soon the
group reached the frigid exit to the tunnel.

The dark cave emptied into a tall, narrow
valley. Snow crunched beneath Myn's feet, the icy wind instantly
chilling her riders to the bone. The dragon leapt into the air and
spread her wings, but the frenzied efforts to reach Lain had taken
a considerable toll on them. After a few painful and abortive
attempts to remain aloft, Myn resigned to running. Myranda huddled
close to the dragon's back, holding Lain down. She trembled
uncontrollably, her sweat soaked clothes already crackling in the
mountain air. The cold managed to cut through the dizziness that
clouded her mind, making her acutely aware of a very powerful and
terribly familiar power in the air.

“Faster Myn! Faster!” she urged.

Myn thundered through the swirling snow of
the blizzard, her mind resolutely focused on the most direct path
down the mountain, but already the threat Myranda feared was
beginning to form. It started as a ripple in mid air. A distortion
amid the white wall of raging snow. The ripple darkened and spread,
slowly at first, then surging. In moments the whole of the valley
was blocked by a massive, churning black void. Finally the void
cleared from the center outward. It revealed a torch lit courtyard,
calm in spite of the blizzard in the valley. It was lined with row
after row of nearmen and demon armors, and the hulking figures of
five massive dragoyles. Myn skidded to a stop and began to back
away from the army that faced them. The nearmen were marching
through by the dozen, and one of the massive beasts strode out
among them, followed by a second.

The faithful dragon turned to the steep walls
of the valley and began to scale one, the others clinging
desperately to her back, but the massive dragoyle roared into the
air and swiped at the comparatively tiny form, missing narrowly.
Myn half slid, half climbed back to the valley floor, barely
avoiding the shattered rubble knocked away by the attack. The ranks
of troops were closing around them as Myn looked frantically for
some means of escape. As she gushed gouts of flame at the soldiers
nearest to her and lashed her tail at others, one nearman climbed
atop a nearby outcropping. He shuddered for a moment, then
addressed them with an unmistakable tone of confidence.

“It always reduces to brute force, doesn't
it?” declared Epidime in his new host, his voice ringing out with
unnatural clarity amid the clash of sword on scale and the roar of
fiery breath. “This time is different, though. There will be no
offers of mercy. There will be no chances to surrender. This time
you die.”

He drew his sword, but quickly regarded it
with disdain. Slowly his gaze turned to the hulking dragoyle. It
opened its serrated maw and heaved a breath of miasma that whipped
away uselessly in the winds of the blizzard. The smile broadened on
his face. Suddenly the intellect left the face of the nearman. A
moment later the largest of the dragoyles froze momentarily. The
empty hollows of its eyes took on a distinctive orange glow and
looked upon the heroes with intelligence and resolve.

Myn plowed through the tide of foes that
flooded the valley, but there was no place to go. Epidime charged
after them, trouncing his own soldiers with little regard. Dozens
more flooded in with every moment. Ivy flared weakly with the blue
aura of fear as she held tenaciously to the dragon's back, but the
transformation inside the mountain had left her with little more
than the strength to remain conscious, and barely that. It was all
that Myranda could do to keep Lain from being hurled from Myn's
back into the bloodthirsty throng. There was naught but madness.
Then came the sounds.

The first was a crack like thunder, but from
deep inside the mountain. A fault erupted boiling hot fumes as it
ran down the mountainside to the mouth of the cave. The second
sound was a hissing whine, almost beyond the range of hearing. It
seemed to emanate from everywhere at once. Then more distinctly
from the portal. The mountainside quaked again and deep orange
molten stone erupted from the fault. It did not rush forward. It
seemed to mound upward, rolling up itself and pushing the slope
aside. Finally it settled into a towering figure. The arctic winds
turned the surface onyx black in moments. It was Ether, her eyes
radiating orange heat, towering even over the massive dragoyles.
The still mindless beast charged her. She pulled back, white-hot
molten stone showing through cracks when she moved, and sent the
creature hurtling into the valley wall with a massive backhand.

As the piercing tone grew louder, all eyes
turned to the portal. The edges had turned from black to a feathery
white. A third dragoyle was stepping through. Just as its forelegs
touched the snowy earth, the edge of the portal surged inward. The
window into the courtyard shrunk toward the center of the massive
mystic gateway, in its place there came a new view, a view of a
hilly countryside. Finally the edge of the portal passed through
the dragoyle. The half that had made it into the valley fell away
from the portal and writhed briefly. There was no sign of the rest.
As the neatly bisected monstrosity came to a rest, a dozen
wild-eyed warriors rushed into the valley from the portal's new
target. The nearmen and armor beasts unlucky enough to meet them
first were torn to pieces. Gleaming blades split the shields of
their foes like clay as the frenzied troops carved a swath through
the nearmen. Epidime launched himself at the new foes, but Ether
brought down a crushing blow that knocked him to the ground. The
other beast recovered and attacked her.

As the titanic clash continued, Myranda
looked through the chaos of snow and battle. On the other side of
the portal, a look of complete concentration on his face, was
Deacon.

“Myn! Through the portal!” she cried.

The dragon took off like a bolt. She bounded
through the valley of clashing swords and battle cries, leaping
from one clearing to another and knocking aside D'karon soldiers
like a ship cutting through the waves. As she drew nearer, the
rundown but maddened soldiers that had come to their rescue began
to pull back. The nearmen pulled together and put up a final
defense, their swords cutting notches into Myn's thick scales with
every step. Behind, the thundering footsteps of a dragoyle were
drawing near. With a final leap the group of heroes plunged through
the portal, crashing to the icy ground on the other side and
grinding to a halt.

Myn turned to the portal. The ragged soldiers
were making their way back through. The ground on the other side of
the portal was shaking as the massive dragoyle pounded ever closer.
Only a pair of soldiers were left on the other side. Myranda tried
to steady her shaky nerves enough to recognize them. One was a
massive man swinging an ax with one hand and a sword with the
other. It could only be Tus. The second, then, could only be Caya.
Tus reduced a swath of soldiers to powder and twisted metal,
shouldering his way through to the other side of the portal. The
dragoyle was so near the hissing breath could be heard even over
the crashing of claws and howling wind. Caya leapt through the
portal a half step ahead of the beast. Its head passed through the
portal, scattering the assembled soldiers, but a stony black hand
clutched it about the neck and brought it to a halt. The monster
drew in a breath of icy air. Next would be a cloud of black
death.

Suddenly the portal snapped shut about the
beast's neck and its wrangler's wrist. The two massive forms
dropped to the earth, and rocked to stillness. After a moment,
there arose a thunderous cry of victory. Warriors young and old
slapped each other on the back and reveled in the thrill of the
moment. Only one man was silent. His head was heavy from the
exertion, but the concern he felt could not be set aside. He
approached Myn. She'd settled to her haunches, her head resting on
the ground as she heaved great clouds of exhausted breath. Her eyes
regarded the approaching form with weary suspicion before she
closed them and rolled her head lightly toward him. Deacon offered
a vigorous scratch. Myranda half climbed, half fell from the
dragon's back.