The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (20 page)

"You, beast. Kill the elf. Half of you cloaks
help. The rest of you and this other beast can help me with this
one. Kill the girl if you must, but aim to injure," the woman
ordered, wheezing a bit and sputtering blood. "You caught my lung
as well. How irritating."

#

"She with the white mark has had her place on
the path threatened," Hollow spoke.

As before, Hollow spoke in a torrent of
different tones, voices, and languages, though one seemed to speak
far louder than the rest. He rose into the air until the chain
securing his wrist to the floor grew taught. His head, legs, and
free arm all hung limply, as though only the left arm had any life
in it.

"Who? Who has threatened her? What should be
done? What can I do?" Deacon managed to gasp.

He should have been thinking of his own
safety. He should have been thinking about the fact that this was a
momentous occasion. He should have been thinking about how many
policies he had broken, and the consequences. He only thought about
the answers to his questions.

"There are trespassers on the path. Shadows
in the field," a shudder went through Hollow's body.

The fingers opened and Deacon dropped to the
ground. Life was flowing into the other limbs now. They began to
twitch. The frail form strained against the chains as it was jerked
by unseen hands from one part of the room to another. Deacon
scrambled back to a well defined line on the ground, indicating the
extent of the chain's reach. He rushed to take down the cryptic
sentences that poured out as a hundred voices seemed to join the
chorus of prediction.

"The light are darkened. Two fingers are not
a fist. Selections. Decisions. White has become black. Gray may
become white. Learners define learned. A long journey, necessary
and deadly, is made safely in a single step. A worthy life can
begin when an unworthy life ends," the voices whispered.

Deacon was hard pressed to record all that he
heard. Then, faintly, far below the other voices, the voice that
had dominated the others in the first few sentences could be heard.
It was quietly but insistently chanting a single phrase. Deacon
strained to hear it. Something told him that of all of these
voices, this is the one that had answered his pleas. This was
Tober. He tried his best to filter out the voices of the other
spirits, each offering up precious hints at future times. His spare
stylus was still. The voice was so soft, so quiet. What was he
saying? The door swung open and Karr entered. He had felt guilty
abandoning his post, and was more than a little frightened that he
would be punished for doing so.

"He is speaking! Deacon! Why didn't you call
for the others? Why aren't you writing?" the apprentice cried, but
the wizard remained still.

What was this voice saying?

#

The cloaks, at least fifty of them, drifted
quickly to their assigned targets. The more massive dragoyle
charged at Desmeres. He frenziedly rummaged through the bag as the
beast pounded toward him, trampling a pair of the cloaks in the
process. The hulking thing was steps away when he pulled out a
large glass ampoule and hurled it at the creature. A clear liquid
burst from the broken container and coated the monster's face.
Instantly the liquid crystallized and hardened. Desmeres dove aside
as an intended bite turned into a head butt that collided with the
ground. In a mere moment there was a swarm of cloaks drifting in
ever decreasing circles around them. Myn dug her claws into the
ground, her gaze locked on the enormous creature that was thrashing
about clawing at its face. Desmeres pulled a thin red flask from
his bag and hurled it at the nearest cloak with lethal accuracy. It
passed through where the body should have been and slid harmlessly
to the ground without breaking.

"It's no good. There is nothing to hit!" he
cried.

The cloaks were very nearly upon them.
Desmeres turned to the dragoyle, which was raking the substance off
of its face already. He pulled out a second red vial and hurled it
at the beast. It struck, shattered, and splashed the creature with
a wave of fire. After burning intensely for a few moments, the
flames subsided, leaving the creature virtually unharmed. Desmeres
looked helplessly through the bag for something that might do some
good. Meanwhile Lain managed to snatch up his sword again, only to
roll to avoid the crushing foot of the other dragoyle. The beast
opened its maw and a cloud of black mist erupted forth. A swath of
the dark stuff cut across the crowd of cloaks that Lain dove
through. Everything that the mist touched hissed violently. The
unlucky cloaks that received a coating released an unholy screech.
Most of them quickly succumbed to widening holes being eaten
through them. With a series of deft sidesteps and dives, Lain made
his way to the woman. The creatures kept their distance, wary of
injuring their master.

"Oh, to hell with it! Myranda cover your eyes
and brace yourself!" Desmeres ordered.

Myranda quickly did as she was told. Desmeres
gave the bag a long, low swing and released it in its entirety at
the beast. The bag struck with a shatter of glass, followed
immediately by a sound that defied description. The roar of
thunder, the crackle of fire, and all manner of whistling,
rumbling, and howling explosions melded into one deafening sound.
It was accompanied by the most dazzling of light shows. Shafts of
red, blue, orange, and white danced momentarily through clouds of
fire, smoke, and debris that trailed away in the mighty wind to
form a long, billowing stream. The force of the blast shredded half
a dozen of the nearby cloaks and singed a dozen others. Desmeres
was hurled backward by the blast. Myranda dropped to the ground,
Myn crouching just in front of her. The rush of wind from the
explosion momentarily outpaced the wind already whipping through
the field. Through squinting eyes, Myranda hoped to see cloaks
being torn away from her by the force of the lingering blast, but
instead she saw a pair of legs, black as a silhouette and ending in
a trio of vicious claws, cleaving the icy ground. The limbs seemed
to fade into nothingness as they approached the flapping cloak,
just as the clawed hands did when they attacked. Thus anchored, the
horrid creatures managed to hold their positions.

Lain's sword clashed with the woman's halberd
again and again. This person should have been dead, but somehow she
matched his speed and strength. As the battle raged on, the woman
seemed to smile, as though she appreciated the skill of her
opponent. Unfortunately, the mismatched weapons were working in the
woman's favor. Whenever Lain managed to step near enough to score a
blow with his sword, the woman switched to the offensive, pushing
him back to the length of the longer halberd's reach. With that
much distance between their target and their master, the cloaks
were emboldened to offer a few strikes. Pitch black phantom limbs
whispered into solidity, slashed at him, and vanished again in one
lightning motion. Already tears in his clothes were showing a
mixture of orange fur and crimson blood. In front of him was the
woman, behind was the dragoyle, and cloaks churned in a ring around
them. There was little hope for escape.

Desmeres’ explosion finally subsided,
revealing a crater alternately frozen, charred, dissolved,
petrified, and pulverized. There was nothing of the beast left but
a handful of shattered, stony pieces of whatever it was that it had
been made of and a sizzling puddle of the same thick black
substance that Myranda had discovered in the field where all of
this madness began. She struggled to her feet, awash in a sea of
cloaks. They clutched and clawed at her, but did not attack. Myn
snapped at them with her mouth and lashed at them with her tail,
but regardless of what she did, the creatures were unaffected, and
without orders regarding the dragon, the cloaks simply ignored her.
The girl drew her mind into a failed attempt at a spell that robbed
her of the strength to stand and she dropped to the ground.
Desmeres was on his feet again and sprinting to her, slashing with
a pair of medium sized daggers he had pulled from concealed
sheaths. His style was a frenzied one, more focused on keeping the
fluttering monsters away from him than killing them. The creatures
had a way of sweeping in for quick slashes and retreating again
with a speed and fluidity that no creature that had to rely on legs
would be able to manage, and when met with the keen edge of his
weapons, they tended to turn back before doing any real damage.
With each step he took they grew bolder, and by the time he reached
Myranda he’d received more than a few deep scratches without
managing to destroy a single cloak. The elf snatched up the girl,
hefting her onto his shoulders. Myn nipped and pulled at the
creatures that attempted to pull her down.

"Clear a path to the fort!" Desmeres ordered
as a claw landed a painful blow across his back.

The dragon was reluctant until Myranda weakly
repeated the order. Like a flash the dragon leapt in front of
Desmeres and, without a friend to worry about hitting, unleashed a
shaft of her fiery breath. The cloaks scattered from the blazing
attack. Fire quickly consumed any of the cloth demons that were
touched, sending them streaking away, trailing streams of flame
behind. As Desmeres trudged slowly toward the doors to the fort,
periodic blasts of flame kept the cloaks at bay.

Lain had taken more slashes to the back and
legs than he could stand. With a trio of swift jumps, he made his
way to the other side of the woman. She turned quickly to face him,
but he had turned his attention to the cloaks. With their master
between himself and the massive dragoyle he had at least a moment
of safety from it as it ran a wide circle around her to reach him.
He swiped his sword with all of his might and sliced through the
three that were attacking him. The very instant his sword met the
fabric of his enemy, something unimaginable happened.

The wind ripping across the field had been
every bit as powerful as a blizzard before, but now it exploded
into a gust that should have torn Lain from the ground. Instead, he
stood without a hair twitching on his head while all around him was
dragged and thrown by the force. The wind itself seemed to be
avoiding him. Lain didn't take the time to consider the cause of
the bizarre phenomenon, as even this mighty wind was not enough to
phase the huge dragoyle that was now charging toward him. He
sprinted with a speed that beat even his earlier showing toward the
sheltering walls of the fort that the others were just now
approaching. Alas, they were not afforded the same mysterious
protection and Desmeres had to fight for every step, while Myn dug
her claws deep into the icy ground to find purchase. The pounding
charge of the attacking beast grew nearer.

Desmeres reached the doors of the outer wall
of the fort and stopped. The unnatural wind was causing them to
swing violently, like shutters in a storm. The creak of wood and
the groan of hinges could be heard even over the wind. There was no
way that they would be able to seek refuge inside safely. Behind
them were ten cloaks, clawed hands and feet clutching the earth as
Myn had and crawling like insects toward them. Suddenly one of the
doors became still before seeming to almost deliberately wrench
itself from its hinges and cartwheel across the field toward Lain.
He managed to dodge. The single-minded creature on his trail did
not. In a monumental impact, the door shattered into splinters,
knocking the creature reeling.

Desmeres stumbled into the courtyard of the
fort and dumped Myranda to the ground as gently as circumstances
would allow. The wind was dying down as Lain joined the others in
the courtyard, or so it seemed until the trio made their way to the
door to defend it. In reality, if such a word could be applied in
light of the surreal events at hand, the wind was receding away
from the fort, focusing on the remaining enemies. If there was any
doubt that some mysterious force was trying to help them, this was
the proof. The cloaks clung tenaciously to the ground, no longer
advancing, but refusing to be pushed back. The dragoyle had yet to
recover from the impact of the door. Only the woman, who held her
halberd high with its gem shining, was unaffected.

"What is going on?" Myranda cried, making an
earnest effort to climb to her feet and failing.

"I . . . I don't know," Desmeres said, a look
of wonder in his face as he watched the spectacle.

Wisps of flame began to appear, streaking
longer and longer in the direction of the wind, as though the wind
itself was turning to fire. It soon became apparent that this was
precisely the case. Within moments the whole of the field before
them was awash in a sea of churning flames. The roar of fire
blended with the screech of dozens of the cloaks that remained. The
heat, even from the safety of the wall, was suffocating. Air
rushing in to feed the flames moved with a force easily equal to
the gales the flames had replaced. Trees in the distance bowed
toward them, so strong was the pull. The maelstrom burned on for
nearly a minute before the swirling flames drew into a tighter and
tighter column, focusing into a single elongated form, positively
brilliant in its radiance. Myranda squinted at the form. Just
barely visible in the center of the glow was the shape of woman. It
was the second time Myranda had seen this being.

"The other Chosen," Myranda whispered in
awe.

#

The apprentice took up a quill and scribbled
furiously. The stylus slipped from Deacon's fingers. He understood
the voice. Even now it was chanting, almost silent to Karr, but
clear in Deacon's head. It was a command. It was directed at him
alone. Such a thing was impossible, unimaginable. Hollow did not
speak
to
anyone. If at all, he spoke
at
everyone. But
there could be no question. He had asked what he could do, and this
was his answer. The chanting did not stop until Hollow fell silent
a minute later, but even then his final words were those that
Deacon had strained to hear.