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    The Great Convergence
    The Great Convergence
    The Great Convergence
    Ebook506 pages9 hours

    The Great Convergence

    By Joseph R. Lallo

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    About this ebook

    The second in the Book of Deacon series, The Great Convergence continues the tale of young Myranda Celeste. With fresh knowledge of magic and steadfast resolve to see the end of the war that plagues her land, Myranda sets out to find and unite the five fated heroes, the Chosen. Each new warrior brings her world a step closer to peace, but does she have the strength to survive the trials ahead?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJoseph R. Lallo
    Release dateDec 30, 2010
    ISBN9781458095299
    Author

    Joseph R. Lallo

    Once a computer engineer, Joseph R. Lallo is now a full-time science fiction and fantasy author and contributor to the Six Figure Authors podcast.

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    4/5

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    • 3/5
      Being the second in the trilogy, suffers a bit from a slow pacing and lack of direction for the central characters.
    • 4/5
      While I was desperate to find out about Myranda's fate, the jumping of points of view was distracting at best. The writer has us so firmly intrenched into Myranda's head that I had no interest in the section with the others and honestly could only skim it. The death that occurred was awful and disappointing as welling.
    • 5/5
      Very entertaining, good characters, I enjoyed it a lot! .

    Book preview

    The Great Convergence - Joseph R. Lallo

    The Great Convergence

    The Book of Deacon

    Book Two

    Joseph R. Lallo

    Copyright ©2010 Joseph R. Lallo

    Cover By Nick Deligaris

    http://www.deligaris.com

    Smashwords Edition, License Notes

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Discover other titles by Joseph R. Lallo:

    The Book of Deacon Trilogy:

    Book 1: The Book of Deacon

    Book 2: The Great Convergence

    Book 3: The Battle of Verril

    Book of Deacon Side Stories:

    Jade

    The Rise of the Red Shadow

    Science Fiction Titles:

    Bypass Gemini

    Unstable Prototypes

    Artificial Evolution

    ###

    A story half told is a crime, and there is no crime greater. When this tale began it was the tale of a common woman in an uncommon circumstance. A woman unprepared, unskilled, and unready. When the last words were written, they spoke of a master many times over. She was a woman filled with resolve--fearless, steadfast, and, above all, determined. A woman firm in her belief and single in her focus, willing to charge into the jaws of doom for her cause. A job needed to be done, and she had the tools to do it. Imagine what the next pages will bring . . .

    #

    I have lost my mind, Myranda muttered to herself. Behind me is paradise. A warm bed waiting for me every night and hot meals waiting for me every day. The people there care for me, respect me, even admire me! I am turning my back on it in favor of a dark cave that will very shortly be filled with water, chasing a confirmed and shameless killer with hopes of convincing him to end a war and save the world.

    The paradise was Entwell. It was a place of learning, populated by the wisest wizards and the mightiest warriors. All had come seeking a beast of legendary ferocity. A beast that each believed had taken the lives of all before them. A beast that had turned out to be the cave itself. For two short periods a year, the cave was dry and passable. The most recent such period was, in moments, going to come to an end.

    The killer was a creature with seemingly no true name. Myranda first knew him as Leo, then as Lain. The name most knew him by was The Red Shadow. He was an assassin, known and feared throughout the continent. He was also a malthrope, a hated and dying breed of creature that looked like a human and a fox combined. Most important, though, was what had days ago been revealed.

    In a ceremony designed to both summon one divine warrior and identify another, he had been revealed as a Chosen One. A tool of the gods, fated to end the war that had been eating away the people of the Northern Alliance and Tressor for one and a half centuries. Rather than embracing his fate, he had turned his back on it. Now he was somewhere within this cave, heading for the war-torn world, with no intention of playing his role. And so she had followed.

    "I will find him. I will convince him. I must," she insisted.

    Myn merely shot her a quick look of acknowledgment before continuing on her task. The dragon, not yet a year old, hadn't spent a day away from Myranda, and she never intended to, no matter the difficulties the travel might bring. Her claws were better suited to the rough walls of a normal cave. The glassy walls of this one offered a challenge, but it was by no means the greatest challenge on the horizon. Already the pair was far enough along that the light from the entrance was dimming behind them. They were rapidly approaching the point of no return.

    Myranda pulled the staff from her bag as the darkness deepened. The well-crafted tool was longer than her own had been, and stouter. No doubt perfectly suited to the height and grip of its former owner, her friend and former teacher, Deacon. She coaxed a light from within the crystal with ease. Being in the cave reminded her of just how recently she had come upon these new talents. When she was here last, she'd had to rely upon a torch. Now, thanks to Deacon's teachings, she could simply will light into being. She had dared not dream of such a thing months ago.

    The pair had only been walking for a few minutes when the mountain let out a bone-shaking roar that each knew all too well. A blast of icy air was cast up from behind her as the way to safety was drowned in a flood of water. She quickened her pace while Myn practically jumped out of her skin, scrambling with renewed vigor along the glassy tube. When they had faced the flood last, it seemed to creep up at a few feet every minute. With any luck, she would be able to keep ahead of the rising water.

    It was not long before it became clear that luck would most certainly not be with her. During their escape, they had thankfully been pulled from the basin of the waterfall before the falls had begun in earnest. Now she heard the roar of the mountain grow steadily. Before long, she could hear the restless rapids sloshing about behind her. They were not creeping along as she had hoped. They were surging. Myranda tried to quicken herself to a run, but the slick ground would not permit it. Finally, she stopped and strapped the bag of supplies to her waist. There would be no outrunning the water. Best, then, to brace herself for it. Myn, far from willing to meet her fate standing still, cast a pleading glance at her friend. When Myranda saw the terror in the beast's eyes, she knew the roaring water was upon them.

    The wall of icy water met her with the force of a raging bull. She was swept along at a speed faster than she could run. Faster than a horse could run! A moment later, she collided with the familiar form of her dragon, and she held tight to the terrified creature with one arm as the other held firm to the staff. Amid the chaos of the water, she had precious little concentration to spend on light. What little she did have of her mind was devoted to a blur of spells aimed at keeping herself and her companion from being dashed apart against the walls. There was no telling how much of the cave was whisking by her, and her dim memory of the way she had come would be useless to her, even if she managed to survive the flood.

    The unwilling trip she was taking ceased to be an upward one and doubled in speed as she found herself sliding down an increasingly steep incline. For a moment, Myranda wondered if this was a fortunate turn of events or an unfortunate one. As usual, fate made its answer to her prompt. The ground sliding along below her suddenly dropped away, and in an instant she was plummeting. She released Myn and tried to set her mind to levitation, hoping to stop her fall--but there was a reason this mountain had been so trying to wizard and warrior alike. Crystal-strewn rock mangled and twisted all but the simplest of magic. This spell, it seemed, was just a bit too complex to slip past the cave's confounding effect, as she soon felt her hold on the mystic energies scatter.

    She felt a sharp pain in her abdomen as she collided with a wall. Instinctively, she reached out with both hands, clutching madly at anything that offered a grip. Somehow she managed to cling to the rough surface of the wall. For a long moment, she held firm, and slowly reclaimed the wind that had been knocked from her by the impact. The roar of falling water surrounded her. She opened her eyes, though doing so was ultimately pointless, as the staff she had released would give off no more light until she willed it to do so. Indeed, before she could even think of illuminating the cave, she would have to find the staff. Having dropped it into the chasm below when she struck the wall, there was a stronger likelihood of the staff finding her than of she finding it.

    As she sorted through the limited options open to her, Myranda felt a nudge at her shoulder. The unexpected feeling nearly jarred her from the wall.

    Myn! Myn, you are all right! she cried.

    Of course, the dragon was once again in her element. She could scamper up and down these uneven walls as easily as along the ground. The dragon flicked her hot tongue in and out, licking at Myranda's ears, thankful for getting her through that torrent.

    Yes, yes. You are welcome. Now it is time to pay me back. I can't cling to this wall forever. I need you to find a tunnel out of here--or, at least, a ledge to recover on, Myranda said.

    Myn flapped from the wall and into the air. For a moment, Myranda wondered how the dragon would be able to see in the utter darkness. A moment later, the creature cast out a column of flame, bathing the gray walls and frothing white water in yellow light. In the flash, Myn's keen eyes took in the wall. In another moment, Myn was beside Myranda on the wall again. With a few helpful taps of the dragon's tail to guide her, Myranda managed to inch her way along the wall to a ledge and pull herself up.

    I don't suppose you might be able to find my staff. I let it go when I hit the wall, Myranda said to her friend, whom she imagined was sitting right before her.

    When she held out her hand to give the creature a few rewarding scratches, she found that she was alone on the ledge. Myn was certainly eager to please. There were two or three more blasts of flame before she was joined again by a very pleased dragon clutching a staff in her teeth.

    Good, Myn. Very, very good, she said, feeling her way blindly to the dragon's brow and scratching it madly.

    Myn squirmed with delight at the attention and dropped heavily into Myranda's lap, disturbing the large bag Deacon had provided her with. There was a metal clink, stirring thoughts of what Deacon imagined was a necessity. Myn deserved and required significantly more petting and rewarding before she allowed Myranda to indulge her curiosity.

    She propped up the staff and brought about the light again as she looked through the bag. The first thing she withdrew was a page from a spell book. Myranda marveled at the torn edge. Deacon took better care of the books than he did himself, and yet when he learned that Myranda planned to find Lain, he'd torn this page free without a thought.

    It was an old one, she could tell. Whatever it was that they used for paper in Entwell aged to an odd mahogany color. The black letters were difficult to read against the reddish paper. She carefully stored it away.

    The metal clink was revealed to be a stout dagger he had provided. That would no doubt be quite useful. There was a small kit with bandages and potions. Thoughtful of him to include it. Finally, she found a stylus. There was no doubt. It was the very one that he carried with him at all times. She ran her fingers along the side of the pen, carefully feeling the point before stowing it with equal care.

    Quickly she checked her tunic. Lain's tooth was mercifully still clinging to the inside of her waterlogged pocket. In a fit of anger during a training session with the warrior, she had managed to knock it from his mouth. He had presented it to her as a reminder of her anger. She removed the tooth from her pocket and fashioned a pouch for it from a bandage. Using a bit of thread, she hung it about her neck. With that done, she secured the bag again.

    The time had come to find some way out of here.

    Standing as best as she could on the somewhat precarious ledge, Myranda surveyed her position. There were numerous openings dotting the wall. Most were far too small to offer much in the way of an exit, and all were a fair distance up. Already the sound of the thundering water was that of a torrent falling upon a pool rather than hard ground. The water was gathering at the bottom of the crevice, and--though the level was still beyond the reach of her light--if the trip she had just taken was any indication, it would not remain so for long. She had to make the right choice the first time, lest she face a dead end with nothing but a wall of water behind her.

    Myn, I think this is another job for you. I need you to see if you can find Lain's scent. He had a head start, but I would wager that rush of water closed the gap for us, she said.

    Before Myranda was through speaking, Myn had scrambled off, along the wall. She sniffed and flicked her tongue intently, traveling from hole to hole and sampling each. Shortly she returned and sniffed at the pouch about Myranda's neck.

    I'd feared as much. We are probably far from the safest or quickest route, so I would imagine there would be half of a mountain between us and Lain. Best to find a new plan, she said, patting the dragon for the effort.

    Myranda set her mind to the task. Not having the benefit of Myn's sense of smell, she was not certain what sort of things would be reasonable to ask her to find. Finally she made up her mind.

    I need you to find fresh air, or failing that, some sort of animal that can be found outside of a cave occasionally. If they need to find a way out, then we can find their way, Myranda said.

    Instantly the dragon scampered off again. It just so happened that the creature had found just such a scent in her search for that of Lain. She maneuvered swiftly to a wide, low opening more or less directly above Myranda's head and slipped inside. Her head then reappeared, looking down expectantly, as though she was surprised Myranda had failed to join her already.

    The wall had countless narrow, smooth-edged cracks. It was ideal for climbing. However, the abrupt trip and its sudden and severe end had left Myranda a less than ideal climber. More than an hour of slow, tentative ascending had passed before she pulled herself onto the ledge. What she found there did little to improve her mood. The roof of the tunnel ahead was so low she would practically have to crawl. With a heavy sigh, she set herself to the task.

    Myn led the way, thrilled to finally be so useful. Fortunately, the tunnel branched several times, eventually opening enough for a more comfortable posture. Also fortunate was the fact that Myn had chosen a tunnel that led steadily upward. At least if the water found its way to the tunnel, it would take longer to reach them.

    Time passed slowly in the darkness of the cave. After enough travel to sap all but the last of the strength from her legs, Myranda began to notice the odor that had been pungent enough for Myn to follow all of this way. It meant that they were headed to a familiar chamber, albeit not the most pleasant one. Sure enough, another few minutes and the pair emerged into a chamber filled with quiet chattering and the worst of smells. This cavern was the home to a massive colony of bats.

    Much to Myranda’s dismay, her stomach growled at the terrible stench. She had been, after all, on the brink of starvation when last she had entered this place. At the time, she’d been accompanied by Lain, and they had made a rather unpleasant meal of some of the winged creatures. Alas, without the forethought to bring food, Myranda hesitated to think what state she would be in after another day of travel. Despite this, she decided that the next meal she ate would be eaten with the sky overhead. Myn was not so choosy, and was in the air in a flash to snatch up a few mouthfuls, sending Myranda running for cover to escape a blizzard of bats.

    Now that they had found their way to a point Myranda knew, she could find her own way. They walked until the girl could no longer manage it, finally resting propped against the wall. With the morning came two sensations, constant companions of a traveler of the north, that she had all but forgotten during her time in Entwell: Stinging cold and gnawing hunger.

    She had picked up the habit of eating breakfast, something that no doubt had contributed to her decision not to eat the one thing she could manage. Were one of those bats to fly by now, she would snatch it out of the air with her teeth, so hungry was she. At least her mind had not been idle while she rested. The many bruises and tender spots from the first half of the trip were healed up, the product of her white magic training working its wonders while she slept--though, upon standing, she found that she was still quite sore from the exertion. She continued regardless. If she remembered correctly, there was no less than another day of travel ahead of her.

    There were two significant additions to their trip, now that she had made it this far. First, the stream that had smoothed the floor enough to guide them during their entry had begun to flow, providing, at least, water to drink. Second, Myn's attitude began to lift, as she undoubtedly began to pick up the scent of Lain. The little beast was nearly as fond of the warrior she was tracking as she was of Myranda, motivating her all the more to find him quickly.

    The cold of the cave increased steadily as they neared its mouth. Myranda cursed herself for not grabbing something warmer to wear before she left. There would be many long, cold days ahead of her if she couldn't find something more suitable for the northern weather. Worse, the tunic she wore was bright blue. The residents of the north almost exclusively wore thick gray cloaks. Her current outfit would stand out like a sore thumb. That was the last thing she wanted right now.

    Hour after long, weary hour passed. The growling of Myranda's stomach fairly echoed off of the walls. Myn seemed to take a more concerned attitude now. There was something in the air that she did not like. Myranda marveled at how well she could understand the thoughts and feelings of her friend, even without words. Indeed, without sound at all. Solomon, a small dragon in Entwell, was the only other dragon she had really known, and he spoke both her language and one of his own, along with no doubt countless others. Myn rarely made a sound.

    Myranda frowned at the thought that, perhaps, growing up beside a human was robbing Myn of something, some language native to her kind.

    The worrying thought was still on her mind when, off in the distance, the faintest glow of daylight could be seen. Myranda's heart leapt, and she would have run if she’d had the strength. Instead, she crept along at the same pace, though wary of Myn's deepening concern. All of a sudden, Myn stopped and absolutely would not proceed.

    What is it, Myn? she asked.

    The little dragon's body went rigid, tail straightening and teeth bared. There was an enemy. Judging from how protective Myn had been in the past, it might have simply been anyone, but on this side of the mountain, anyone was as good as her worst enemy. She doused the light and moved near to the wall, attempting to remain unseen.

    Myn stalked, slowly and silently. When the mouth of the cave was near enough, Myranda saw what Myn had smelled. Not one but two of the Elites were standing dutifully at the cave's mouth. Elites, after all of this time!? A contingent of the small but legendary force of veteran soldiers had followed her here, but that was months ago. Surely they should have given up by now. Myranda's eyes darted about in near panic. They landed on Myn, who seemed ready to attack.

    Myn, no, Myranda whispered insistently into her friend's ear. We can't. If we kill them, then when they do not report in, their superiors will know something has happened. Why else would Lain have left them alive? We have to get by them somehow.

    Myranda quietly wished she had just an ounce of the stealth that Lain had. He had surely slipped by them with no trouble at all. Her mind turned to the spells that she had at her disposal. No disguise would do, and she doubted that she would be able to create one that was convincing, regardless. Invisibility would work, but Deacon had yet to perfect it, and Myranda had been less than successful at casting what little of it he had mastered. She had learned sleep, but simply dropping them into unconsciousness suddenly would be a clear indication that someone had passed. If she was to do this, she would have to do it with care.

    Slowly, almost not at all, she passed her influence toward them. She made their eyes just a little heavy. With the utmost of care and restraint, she increased the spell. Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly. She noticed one of them waver, catching himself, and the other yawn. Slowly. One of the men moved to the wall to lean against it. A few minutes later, he slid to the ground to sit more comfortably. The other did likewise. In a few minutes more, the pair was asleep on opposite walls of the cave. As far as they knew, it had been their idea.

    After reminding Myn to leave them be, Myranda walked past the unaware soldiers. Thankfully, there were no other soldiers in sight. There was, however, a two-man tent, a pair of horses, and a separate supply tent. Myranda peeked her head into the supply tent to find it mounded with all sorts of rations and equipment. The men had been stationed here for nearly half of a year, and they were equipped for months more.

    She selected a coarse brown blanket from a stack of them near the back, and one each of the rations available, not bothering to see what, precisely, she was taking. She was far more concerned with her selections escaping notice. With the blanket wrapped around her and the supplies stowed in her bag, Myranda stalked off into the forest, directly away from the mouth of the cave.

    Looking upon the landscape was a grim reminder of the life she had left behind when she entered the cave. The world was overwhelmingly white. Any color from evergreen leaves, lichens, or sky was muted to a sterile gray by frost. The air had a biting cold to it, one that the damp tunic and rough blanket did little to turn away. She forced the unpleasant sensations from her mind and quickened her pace. When she felt she had moved far enough to avoid discovery, she cleared a patch of ground, threw together a pile of frozen wood, and conjured a smokeless fire. She sat cross-legged and allowed Myn to crawl onto her lap before wrapping the blanket around the two of them.

    When their combined body heat had made them at least somewhat comfortable, Myranda pulled the spell sheet from the bag. She held it in one hand while petting Myn with the other. The dragon’s skin and scales felt more leathery than usual, and she had noticed that the little creature had a dingier color, but she could not spend any thoughts on that now. She had to focus on the spell.

    The black letters on mahogany paper were barely visible in the light of the fire, but her eyes adjusted as the sun's light crept from the sky. Deacon had, alas, not cast a translation spell on this page, so she was left to her own knowledge to decipher it. While she had at least a loose understanding of the spoken languages of Entwell, the written ones had never been explained. This page, mercifully, must have been one of the few written by someone besides Deacon, because it was all in one language. Deacon had a mismatched patchwork language he tended to use when writing that took an expert to follow. Myranda wondered if perhaps that was the language he spoke when she was not around. Regardless, the spell seemed to be in the same alphabet as Northern. That at least would allow her to speak the words. Perhaps then she could understand them. She spent a fair part of the night sifting through the procedures described in the page until a particularly loud growl in her stomach actually woke Myn.

    I suppose I ought to eat and continue in the morning, she spoke quietly to her companion.

    Myn seemed to want to get out from the blanket and retrieve a meal for her friend personally, but when she ventured a claw out into the bitter cold, she changed her mind and retreated back to beneath the covers.

    The rations in Myranda's bag were many and varied. A rock-hard biscuit of some kind. Some salted meat. Dried fruit!? Myranda had heard that the best food was set aside for the troops, but aside from the apple that she had grown herself, the closest thing to fruit that she had seen in years was the awful wine that taverns served. That, she decided, would be for a special occasion. She chose some of the biscuit, ate it quickly, and propped herself against a tree to drop off to sleep.

    In the morning, she woke and returned immediately to her task. Myn slipped from her blanket, stretched, and trotted off to get her own breakfast while Myranda gnawed on more of the biscuit. Myn returned with a rabbit and dropped it in front of Myranda. She prepared it as best she could. When she was through eating, Myn snapped up the rest.

    Myranda deciphered more of the spell. It seemed that when she cast it, the item used to track the person in question would be drawn toward them. The strength of the attraction would indicate their distance. The duration would change depending on the will of the target. Myranda stood and removed the tooth from her neck. She held it by the strings in one hand and held her staff in the other. The spell was small but complex. She tried several times to cast it, with her final attempt prompting a tiny tug to the southwest. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Myranda wrapped the blanket about her shoulders, stowed the spell, donned the tooth, and moved to the southwest.

    As days of walking passed and Myranda's stolen rations began to run low, she began to wonder what she was thinking. She couldn't enter a town with Myn, and the dragon simply would not leave her side. She could make do with the meals Myn brought her when the food ran out--but sooner or later, she would need warmer clothes at the very least. Even if she could convince Myn to wait while she entered a town to do business, she had no money, and no way to get any.

    She remembered Lain's words. He had spoken of her as a creature of cities and roads, while he was of forests, mountains, and plains. Well, now she too was out of place in the world of humans. All the better, though. If this was where Lain was to be found, then it was where she must be.

    Nearly a week of southward travel had led her to be comfortable with the sounds of the woods while she slept, though when a snowfall came, she missed her hood. Each morning she checked Lain's location with the spell. She knew that he would be traveling by night while she traveled during the day. This way, at least, he would not be moving when she cast the spell. It was becoming easier. He was getting closer. She had been heading almost entirely due south for the last few days. Lain had likely been keeping to the edge of the woods to remain unseen. Now, though, she checked to find that he was due west of her, traveling across the open plains.

    Looking out across the plain, Myranda saw a thin, sparsely wooded area off in the distance. It was a bit less than half of the way between herself and the edge of Ravenwood, the massive western forest that was still visible at the base of the mountains on the horizon. The dangling tooth pointed her to the trees; they rustled with a stiff and constant breeze in the distance. Thus, she proceeded in that direction, carefully scanning for anyone who might spot her. For once, she was glad that the plains of the north were almost deserted. She hurried across the field as quickly as she could. As she did, she wondered why no roads led through this plain. There were at least five small towns nearby, yet the nearest road ran far to the west and circled completely around the plain to reach the furthest of the towns. A second road through this place would cut the travel time in half.

    Myn seemed distracted. The slowly strengthening wind carried either the scent of Lain or something else, and it was making her anxious. When they reached the trees, Myranda noticed a handful of small brown creatures scurrying across the ground. Suddenly Myn froze. Myranda began to ask what might be the matter, but her voice caught in her throat when she realized the source of her friend’s concern.

    There was not merely a handful of the little creatures. Behind them there were dozens, perhaps a hundred. Each had the small size and long body of a weasel, but their eyes seemed absent, with slight indentations where they ought to be. They had six legs, each tipped with a trio of short, stout, cruel-looking claws. There were clusters of them, sniffing madly at the ground around her footprints.

    The pair was surrounded by the things, and more were popping out of scattered burrows by the moment. As they each sniffed the air, row after row of needle-sharp teeth were bared in anger. They did not like the scent of the intruder. The creatures approached one at a time. Myn tried to frighten them off, but as she pounced at them, they scattered, keeping just out of her reach. In moments, the two of them were completely surrounded.

    A chill of fear ran up and down Myranda's spine as she held her staff ready. She decided a spell of fire would hold them at bay, but she would need a minute or two to produce enough of it to protect her, while the fear burning at her mind increased that time greatly.

    Myn, fire! she cried.

    Myn tried to obey, but somehow the things with no eyes were able to avoid the flames, only a few getting even remotely singed. The creatures were swarming about Myranda's legs. With no spells swift or safe enough to ward them off now, she swatted at them with the staff, knocking a few away. Just as the first of them sunk its teeth into the girl's leg, there came a piercing whistle. The small creatures scattered. An instant later, the blanket about the young woman’s shoulders was torn from her back.

    Turning quickly to discover the culprit, she found Lain, dressed in the black tunic of Entwell, holding his white cloak in one hand and her brown blanket in the other.

    You! she cried furiously.

    Myn scampered to him, leaping about joyfully.

    Pick her up, he ordered.

    Before Myranda could object, Myn obligingly leapt into Myranda's arms. Lain threw his cloak about her shoulders and hurled her blanket into the mass of creatures who were already beginning to venture closer. The very moment that the blanket landed, the creatures converged on it, tearing it to ribbons.

    Quickly, this way. And do not speak until I tell you, he said, marching forward with purpose while the creatures were distracted.

    #

    The pair moved quickly to a more thickly wooded bit of the field. Every few moments, Lain would cast a glance at the chaotic frenzy behind them. When a handful of the furry creatures stood on their hindmost legs and sampled the air, only to turn away and return from whence they came, Lain broke the silence.

    You should have stayed in Entwell. You were there for your protection, he said.

    For safekeeping, you mean. So that you could go about your murder without fear of anyone else claiming my ransom, she said.

    Yes, he said.

    Myranda was given pause by the frankness of his answer.

    So, what noble plans have you got that are more important than ending the war? she asked.

    I must resupply and meet with my partner. The Elites will have been busy. It will take time to rebuild, he said.

    I cannot say that I am sorry to hear it. You deserve every hardship and misfortune that this world has to give until you turn yourself to your proper task, she said.

    Lain weathered the assault in stoic silence. Somehow, Myranda could not bring herself to continue to give him the berating she felt he deserved.

    Thank you, by the way, she said, her voice still stern.

    Lain grunted in reply.

    What were those things? she asked.

    Oloes. They will attack, kill, and consume any creature with an unfamiliar scent or sound, he said.

    Then why didn't a single olo pay any attention to you? she asked.

    My scent is familiar, he said.

    They continued until they reached a tall, sturdy pine. Lain looked over the roots. In several places, they looped up above ground. After close inspection of one root in particular, he grasped it, put one foot against the tree, and pulled with all of his might. Slowly, not just the root but a square section of ground began to tip up. He pulled and strained until the square, now clearly a thick, wooden trapdoor with a few inches of soil disguising it, stood on end. He then crouched low to the ground and carefully reached his hand inside, feeling at the walls. Myranda peered inside. The pale light that made it through the thick clouds did not penetrate far into the darkness. When Lain found what he had been probing for, a soft click could be heard from within the hole that prompted him to quickly pull his arm free. A blade swiped across the shaft, and the swishing sound and puff of air from the door hinted at many more that had gone unseen.

    Put her down. This is the place, he said.

    After those blades nearly robbed you of your arm, you are going inside? she said.

    Yes. And once the oloes get a whiff of the blood trickling down your leg, it is going to take more than a loud whistle to scare them off, he said.

    Myranda had forgotten about the creature that had managed to bite her. She did not relish the thought of facing those things again. Reluctantly, she looked into the hole. Myn hopped to the ground and peered in curiously as well. Myranda searched for a ladder of some sort built into the walls, but found none. She lowered her bag down an arm’s length and dropped it. From the sound, there was not much of a drop. She lowered her legs and slid into the opening, dangling for a moment by her fingertips before dropping a foot or two to a solid surface in the darkness below. Her eyes had only just begun to adjust when a light flashed in front of her. She scrambled back to the bag at the base of the opening and pulled out her staff, turning back in time for a second spark. This one lingered, as a lamp flickered to life, casting light on the room.

    It was a small room. The walls were made of stone blocks, while the low ceiling was made of wood, with thick planks running across its length. Placed regularly through the room were sturdy support beams. There were heavy doors on three walls. The lamp was in the hands of a man standing in the open doorway opposite the entrance shaft. Its flickering yellow light fell upon a face with a look of confused recognition, a look that Myranda no doubt shared, as this was not precisely a stranger. After a moment of searching through crowded memories, each spoke the name of the other simultaneously.

    Desmeres? she said.

    Myranda? spoke the man.

    Indeed, it was the odd fellow she had briefly met in a tavern when this great journey had only just begun. His youthful face, wild white hair, and expensive attire were unmistakable.

    I can't say I expected to see you here, he said.

    Myn, hearing the voices within, darted down into the room and planted herself between Myranda and the potential threat. Desmeres took a step back.

    Well, now! That is yours, I trust! he said, eying the intruding creature with amusement.

    Yes, yes. This is Myn, Myranda answered, eager to get it out of the way and have her own questions answered. What are you doing here?

    "Well, for the time being, this is my home. A more appropriate question would be what are you doing here?" he countered.

    Before she could answer, Lain dropped down. Desmeres glanced up, this time with recognition unmarred by confusion.

    L-L-L-L-Leo, right? Good lord, it has been ages! How has Sasha been treating you? he said as though speaking with an old friend.

    Taken, he said.

    No! By who? Desmeres said, dismayed.

    The Elites, he answered.

    Oh. I thought I'd never see the day, he said. "I trust she served well? A masterpiece, that one. She was silent when you needed her to be, but when she wanted to, she could sing. Shame on you for losing her. You'd better figure out how to get her back before they squeeze any secrets out of her, because if I--"

    Wait! What is going on here? Myranda asked.

    I am catching up with my friend Leo, Desmeres said.

    You know him? she said.

    Of course! I collect and craft weapons and he uses them. So, how has the business been? Any projects you feel like discussing? he began.

    Never mind that. She knows, Lain said.

    Does she? How much? Desmeres asked, surprised, but still with a sense of amusement.

    Enough, he said.

    Well . . . that's new, Desmeres replied.

    I suppose that it was no coincidence that you and I met in the tavern that day, Myranda said.

    No, no. Of course it wasn't. You can safely assume that each and every time I do anything, it has been meticulously planned out to benefit me in some way, Desmeres said, in a tone that made it difficult to tell if he was joking.

    Lain pulled open one of the other doors and entered. Desmeres attempted to walk past Myranda, but Myn prevented it.

    Well, all right, fine. Myranda, would you do me a favor? There is a rope over there by the trapdoor. Give it a good strong pull. We've got to close the door and reset the blades, he said.

    Myranda turned to do so. As she did, Desmeres continued to chat with her as though they were the best of friends.

    So, I recognize the old Entwell garb. Is that where you ended up? he asked.

    Yes. How did you know about Entwell? she asked.

    Born and raised there. Is my father still knocking about? He makes the master-level weapons, he asked.

    I don't know. I didn't meet any weapon makers except for . . . Wait, what is going on here? she demanded. Desmeres had a way of making things seem so casual, she had nearly forgotten the ordeal that she had been through to get here.

    You just pull on the cord there and-- he began.

    Not that! Where am I? Why are you working with Lain? What do you really do? she cried.

    "Are we calling him Lain now? Eh, regardless. Just get the door closed, we'll join Lain inside, and all will be revealed. Well, some will be revealed. I don't want to make any promises I can't keep," he said.

    Myranda sighed heavily and pulled hard on the rope. The heavy door began to drop shut, the weight of it apparently driving the machinery that reset the blades.

    Well done. This way, please. This is a bit of a reunion, so I've finally got a reason to open some of the vintage. That alone is reason enough to celebrate, he said.

    They walked through the doorway to a larger room with various dried and smoked foods hanging along one wall. Along another was rack after rack of fine wine. Most of the rest of the room was littered and stacked with chests of various sizes. In the center was a table with two chairs. Desmeres lit a set of candles on the table and several lamps that lined the walls.

    As you see, we aren't equipped for guests. There is usually only the two of us here, if anyone at all. Pull up a chest or something to sit on. I dare say I've emptied quite a few waiting for this fellow to show up, he remarked, as he looked over the stock of wine.

    Myranda did so. It was already quite clear that she would have no answers until Desmeres was ready to give them. The white-haired fellow opened a bottle and set it on the table, then set about finding enough glasses for all in attendance. After leaving the room, he returned with two heavy clay cups and one metal one.

    The honored guest gets the special glass, he said, setting it before her.

    It was not until she watched him pour a splash of the wine that she realized that the chalice was

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