Free The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril by Joseph Lallo Page B

that she might sit beside him during the times that
the others rested. He would drift into his warrior's sleep and she
would stare at him with eyes that, despite her considerable
efforts, betrayed the tiniest hint of longing.
    It was late in the second day's travel in
Ravenwood when Myranda began to feel uneasy. There was something
she recognized about this place. It was madness to suppose that she
was able to recognize the trees and stones, and yet, this stretch
of the woods seemed familiar. Soon, she knew why. Four swords
stood, mostly buried in the snow. Three still bore helmets, a forth
with one nearby. She'd spent a night here. She'd found Myn here
once, ages ago. It was during her first brush with mystic training.
The dragon had run off from the tower where the girl was being
taught. Despite the urging of her teacher, she’d gone after the
little creature, and found her near death in this very stretch of
forest. She’d managed to save the creature that day, but only just.
A shudder went through her. It did not go unnoticed by Deacon.
    “Wolloff is near here,” Myranda said, hoping
to deflect the question that would surely come.
    “Wolloff . . . the white wizard. The
gentleman who gave you your introduction to magic,” Deacon
recalled.
    “I wouldn't call him a gentleman, but yes,
that is him,” She said.
    Deacon raised his eyebrows, remarking. “I do
wish we weren't in such a hurry. It might be interesting to visit
with a fellow spell caster. At the very least he deserves
congratulations for starting you off so well.”
    “He isn't the type to welcome visitors,” she
said.
    “That's just fine with me. I like having this
time alone with my family,” Ivy said, as she finished off another
sketch and returned Deacon's book to him.
    “Family?” Myranda asked with a grin.
    “Well, what would you call it?” Ivy said. “We
travel together, we help each other, and if we are all Chosen, then
that means that all of us can trace ourselves back to the gods. So
that means we are all related, sort of. Except Deacon.”
    “I never thought of it that way,” Myranda
quipped.
    “And nor should you. The gods created me. I was not born. Thus I have no parents, no siblings, no family.
I am unique,” Ether objected.
    “You just don't want to admit that you and I
have something in common,” Ivy said tauntingly.
    “We share nothing but a common purpose,”
Ether growled.
    Ivy rolled her eyes. As she opened her mouth
to retort, Lain raised his hand to silence her. He began to stalk
slowly into the woods, motioning for the others to follow. Minutes
passed before the others noticed anything out of the ordinary.
First came the tracks. Fresh. A pair of horses. Then, emerging from
the darkness as they approached it, a tree with a sheet of paper
nailed to it. Lain approached it. As his eyes scanned over it, a
visible fury came over him. He tore the paper from the tree and
threw it to the ground, rushing ahead. The others followed. There
was another paper, and another. Before long every tree in sight had
a page affixed. Lain was shaking with anger, his clawed fingers
scoring deep gashes in the tree as he tore away another page.
Myranda tore down a page of her own and read it.
    “What is it?” Deacon asked.
    “Names. Nothing but names,” she replied.
    “Do you recognize them?” he asked, removing a
page as well.
    “None of them,” she said.
    Lain drew in a long slow breath and turned to
something in the distance. He removed his sword, sheath and all,
from his belt and handed it to Myranda.
    “Do not follow,” he warned.
    The others complied, Lain rushing into the
darkness. His motion was less measured than usual. His footfalls,
normally silent, betrayed his path with each pounding, crunching
step. They retreated quickly into the trees until they could no
longer be heard. What followed was a long silence. It was broken by
a horrible noise, like the roar of a beast mixed with a glimmer of
voice. It came again, the second