The Book of Deacon (47 page)

"You have lived for over a century in prime
physical condition, and yet you doubt that there is some higher
purpose to your existence," Myranda said in disbelief.

"There are many races of this world that can
claim the same," he offered, entering his hut. "And, thanks to the
efforts of
your
kind and others, we cannot be sure that my
brethren are not similarly blessed. I have never known a malthrope
that came to a natural end."

Myranda silently considered his words before
choosing her next question.

"You say that you witnessed my capture by the
cloaks. What do you know about them?" she asked.

"They are present in some small way in every
town I have visited for as long as I can remember. I was uncertain
of their origin or alignment until the day that you were taken.
They would appear to be agents of the Alliance Army. They move
about at night. It is very difficult to detect them. They have no
scent, they make no noise. Be suspicious of any quiet stranger.
Particularly at night. Your encounter was the first real action I
have ever seen them take. They have benefited from the nearly
universal use of gray cloaks even more than I. I suspect that they
may be the reason for it," he answered from within.

"The nearmen . . . the cloaks. What else
don't I know of this world? What else should I know?" she
begged.

Lain exited the hut and looked her in the
eye, judging whether it was truly intended as a question. When he
was satisfied, he answered.

"You grew up in a world very different from
mine. You have spent your life in the cities and on the roads
between. I have spent mine in the fields, forests, mountains, and
plains. I have seen things that you could scarcely imagine. If you
intend for me to list all of them, I haven't the time or patience
to do so. However, if it is the nearmen and cloaks that concern
you, I can name a few similar oddities to my world that may have
spilled into your world, or may soon," he said.

"Please," she said.

"An associate of mine has collectively called
the cloaks, the nearmen, and the others I may name, the D'karon.
They all share a quality of imitation, in the same vein as the
cloaks are suits of demon armor. They are rare, and with any luck
they will remain so. They are far more hostile. In our first few
meetings, I found myself ill-equipped to defeat them. There is
simply nothing to attack. Only cold, empty metal," he said,
recalling briefly before continuing.

"Humans and the like are hardly the only
creatures imitated. I have seen stony parodies of wolves, worms,
and countless others. I believe you may have seen the D'karon
version of a dragon. One lay ruined on the ground beside that
swordsman," he said.

"Where have these creatures come from?" she
asked.

"Where do any races come from? I have lived
for some time and these creatures have been lurking in the
background since my earliest days. Perhaps they have been present
at least as long as your kind, and have been lucky enough to avoid
discovery. The only thing that I know for certain is that they are
native to the north. I have spent time south of the battlefront on
several occasions and found them to be absent," he said.

Myranda considered the information as Lain
began stretching his legs. He showed little outward sign of the
terrible state he'd been in when she found him, but slight limp
still nagged him.

"How many questions have I asked?" she
asked.

"Four. Unless you intend this to be the
fifth," he answered.

"Of course I don't. Four left. I have strayed
too far. You need to tell me more about yourself. I want you to
retell the story you told me as Leo. Where you grew up, what your
life has been like. Only this time I want the truth," she said.

"I had hoped you wouldn't realize your
carelessness until your stockpile of questions had dwindled. Well,
then. Of my earliest years, I know only what I have read. If the
record-keepers are to be believed, I was found in the forest. My
mother had died giving birth to me. The man who found me handed me
over to his brother, a slaver. I was sold with a batch of two dozen
slaves while I was still an infant, included free of charge. I was
beaten, isolated, and ostracized by all who saw me. The only man
who offered any semblance of care was a blind man named Ben. He was
not so much fond of me as he was indifferent, but being ignored was
as good as being pampered in those days. He and I had something in
common. We had three stripes," he said.

Myranda gave a questioning stare. Lain rolled
up his sleeve, revealing a trio of vicious-looking scars, visible
even through the fur on his arm. Below it, a similar scar formed a
jagged curve.

"A slave is branded once when purchased, and
again when they begin to work. The bottom mark is the symbol of the
slaveholder I was sold to. The three lines denote my value. One
line indicates the highest value, young men mostly. A second line
may be added when a slave is less useful. These are given to most
women, aging or weak men, and those with permanent injury. A third
is added when a slave is considered worthless. The elderly, the
infirm, and undesirables such as myself.

"I was treated to the full three on the day I
was deemed capable of working. Life was bad until the owner died
and left us all to his son. It became much worse very quickly after
that. He made a series of bad decisions that drained the coffers in
a matter of years. In response, he sold all of the most valuable
slaves and switched to more valuable crops. Lower quality workers
coupled with crops that left the land nearly barren after only a
few seasons worsened matters. Most of the two stripes were sold as
well as a fair amount of the land. I was one of the only
able-bodied workers left. We were all doing triple the work as in
past years. I personally was doing the work of an ox. I had been
lashed to a plow.

"One day Ben died at the whips of the drivers
and I . . . lost control. When I regained my senses, I was standing
over the new owner's youngest son, scythe in my hand and death all
around me. I fled into the woods. Later, I learned he was the only
survivor of the staff and family," he said.

Myranda shifted uncomfortably. She had almost
managed to put aside the fact that Lain was an assassin, and had
even begun to see hints of the warmth that had made her fond of him
in the past. Now he sat, telling this tale of his torturous youth,
followed by his unapologetic account of a murderous rampage. He was
a monster, a murderer. She'd known it since her first question. Now
she knew of the life that made him so. He went on.

"I found myself free for the first time. I
had to find a way to support myself, and if possible, get revenge
for the years that had been stolen from me. I had only two skills,
it would seem. I could work a farm, and I could take lives. I swore
never again to do the former, so I chose the latter. After a few
years, I developed the Red Shadow legend, as well as one or two
others. My travels brought me here, and I took away the knowledge
and skill to continue my task with a good deal more success. Since
then, life has been an endless hunt for my next target," he
said.

Myranda sat silently. There was a look in
Lain's eyes as though he expected this answer to be the last, at
least for today. He knew that what she had learned sickened her.
Perhaps it was just to avoid proving him right again, but Myranda
decided to continue.

"How many questions left?" she asked.

"Three," he said.

"Very well, then. I know you are a killer.
What sort of people pay you to do so?" she asked, her voice shaking
a bit.

"Rich ones. Not only because they have the
funds, but they tend to be the only ones arrogant enough to believe
they may choose who lives and dies," he said.

"You'll have to do better than that. I want
names," she said.

"Over one hundred years have brought me more
employers than I can recall. It is safe to say that nearly every
powerful family in the north has been on one side of my blade or
the other," he said.

"I am still waiting for names," she said.

"Then you will have to be more specific.
Refine your question," he said.

"Fine. But this is still the same question.
Have you ever worked for anyone I might have known? Someone in
Kenvard?" she asked.

There was a reason she had danced around the
question. She feared the answer. Kenvard was the former capital of
the nation of the same name. Every influential family in the west
had a representative there, and her parents had known all of them.
What she knew of them told her they were good people who would
never make use of a hired blade. What she knew of the world made
her fear otherwise.

"My answer remains the same. More than I can
name," he said.

"Choose one," she demanded.

"Sam Rinthorne," he said.

"The Lord! You were hired by the Lord of all
of Kenvard! For what? Tell me everything, and this is
one
question," she
said.

"The people of Kenvard,
your
people, were taking
terrible losses, disproportionate to both Ulvard and Vulcrest.
Military strikes were hitting their mark with accuracy that could
only be the result of a leak in the intelligence chain. I was hired
to find and kill the responsible party, or parties," he said.

"Continue," she said.

"I followed the flow of the information to a
messenger. To keep any more information from escaping, I killed
him--and eventually followed the trail to a military headquarters
in Terital," he said.

"Terital? That is the old capital of Ulvard.
It's on the other side of the continent," Myranda remarked.

"Indeed. In those days, it was home to the
five generals. At least, it had been until a few days before I
arrived," he said.

"But the generals didn't move north until--"
she began.

"The massacre happened a few days later," he
said. "Since my employer was killed, I had no reason to
continue."

Myranda froze as a thought passed through her
mind.

"What information was the spy carrying?" she
asked.

"As I recall, he was carrying orders from the
general to change the patrol route around Kenvard. He also carried
a letter written in Tresson detailing the unique weaknesses that
the new patrol offered," Lain answered.

"What did you do with the information?" she
asked.

"Nothing," he said.

"Then what--" she began.

"You have had your questions. If you want to
know more, earn it," he said, turning and entering his hut.

"You had the orders. You knew there was a
weakness. You could have done something, and you did
nothing!"
she cried.

Lain sat on the ground in his hut, eyes
closed.

"You are a
monster!"
she growled.

Lain sat motionless. Myranda picked up the
staff. Her hands shook with frustration as she stood helpless.
Every hardship in her life was born that day, and he could have
stopped it. The thought of it overwhelmed her. Before she knew what
she was doing, she had thrust the staff at Lain. An attack with all
of the force she could muster. In a blur, Lain's hand was around
the end of the staff. A fast, painful twist wrenched the weapon
from her grip and hurled it to the wall. His eyes never opened.

"I am proud to know that I have lit a fire in
your soul. I warn you, though: do not let it consume you," he
said.

Myranda stormed out of the hut. Myn, who had
watched the display with more than a bit of uneasiness, followed
after her. She had watched them trade blows for so long, she had
learned that it was a game. There was something different in this
last attack. The dragon had detected much anger between them, and
it troubled her in the same way that a child might be affected by
an argument between parents. She was further troubled when Myranda
did not eat afterward, as she commonly did when strong enough.
Instead, the human collapsed into her bed and wept.

Myn comforted her as best she could without
words until both fell asleep.

#

The night was riddled with nightmares.
Myranda saw images of the atrocities Lain had admitted to. She saw
the day of the massacre replayed over and over. More than once
during the night, she was jarred from sleep, and once gone it was
slow to return. After scarcely an hour of real sleep, she was
awakened by the last voice she wanted to hear.

"Oh, you and the beast share a bed. How
appropriate," Ayna said.

"Why are you here?" Myranda mumbled.

"Well, the time has come for you to display
all that I have taught you. I suggest you eat first," she said.

Myranda pulled herself out of bed, grabbed
her staff, and trudged to the food hut. Ayna fluttered along beside
her.

"You don't seem particularly well-rested. I
seem to recall ordering you to have a long and full rest," Ayna
muttered angrily.

"My dreams kept me awake," Myranda explained,
as she tried to eat.

"That is a sign of a very weak mind," Ayna
reprimanded. "And must you eat so slowly?"

Deacon entered and took a seat beside
Myranda.

"Lovely, your shadow has arrived," Ayna
sneered.

"Myranda, you do not look very well. Are you
sure you are up to this?" Deacon asked.

"She hasn't got a choice. I will test her
today," Ayna said.

"And what have you got in store for her?"
Deacon asked accusingly.

"A suitable test of skill for our little
prodigy," the fairy said.

"And something certain to make you stand out
as a teacher," he offered.

"My mere existence is quite enough to make me
stand out," Ayna said, sniffing at the air before remarking, "What
is that smell? Your food? How can you eat that?"