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

time accompanied by a cry that was
vaguely human. Then more silence. When the crunching footsteps
returned, they were slower, less driven. Lain emerged from the
darkness. The anger was still clear in his eyes, but he seemed more
composed. He approached. His hands were coated with black, and more
of it stained his mouth, chin, and chest. He spat something on the
ground.
    “Where is the nearest fort?” he asked,
prompting Deacon to swiftly begin digging for his map.
    “What did you do?” Myranda asked
nervously.
    “What had to be done,” he replied, taking his
sword back.
    “The nearest fort is northwest of here. It is
one of twelve forts labeled Final Reserve . It seems to be a
rather poorly guarded one,” he said.
    Lain looked over the map and set off quickly,
the others having to scramble to avoid losing sight of him.
    “What has gotten into him?” Deacon called
over the sound of the pounding hooves.
    “I don't know!” Myranda replied, trying
unsuccessfully to look over the flapping paper without guiding her
horse into a tree.
    She caught a glimpse of a name here and
there. What could make Lain completely reverse his decision? What
about these names could make him change his mind about taking Ivy
to the south? Perhaps . . .
    “All of the names are Tresson,” she called to
Deacon.
    “I fail to see the relevance,” he
replied.
    “Well . . . we were heading to Tressor. We
were trying to find people that he trusted,” she said.
    “Are you suggesting . . . these are the names
of those people?” he asked.
    “What else would explain it?” Myranda
asked.
    “No . . . no, that must be it . . . but there
are so many!” he said. “Lain doesn't strike me as the sort to make
so many friends!”
    “I don't think they are friends . . . I think
they owe him,” Myranda said.
    “It doesn't matter, right? If they know about
them, then I won't be safe there, right? I won't be safe anywhere,
right?” Ivy said enthusiastically.
    She was happy, so much so that the faint
telltale yellow aura began to appear. It was not the sort of
realization that should prompt such a reaction, but it meant
something very different to her than it did to the others.
    “And that means there is nowhere you can
leave me! I have to stay with you!” she almost sang.
    “NO!” Ether cried.
    She shifted to her wind form and soared to
Lain's side.
    “Tell them they are wrong! Tell them you've
simply found a faster way to take her there! Tell them you've found
a better place to leave her! TELL THEM!” she demanded.
    Lain kept his eyes resolutely ahead, offering
nothing in reply but his deep, rhythmic breaths.
    “No. NO! I will take her! Entwell will be
safe! Damn the waterfall, I can get her there! I will take her over
the blasted mountains and down the cliff if I must.
That thing must not be allowed to fight beside us! She is a
liability! She is a threat ! She does not deserve to be
near you !” the gusting form cried in a mixed plea and
demand.
    “If you could have done so… You would have by
now,” Lain said, the strain of the sprint beginning to show. “I can
only keep her safe … if she is by my side. She will only be safe …
from the D'karon forever … if the D'karon are gone … forever.”
    Ether continued her begging, growing almost
desperate, but Lain was silent. He led the others farther in those
last few hours than they had gone in the entire previous day. They
were heading toward a pass in the mountains just to the south.
Oddly, the map indicated that it led to a large and vital road that
ran the length of the mountain range. Myranda had lived all of her
life in the north, and she had neither seen nor heard of this road
even once. Even having seen it on the map was not enough to
convince her. The cost and effort to keep a road through the
mountains maintained made it an act of idiocy to even propose such
a thing. When the group finally settled down to a long overdue rest
at the mouth of the pass, Lain forewent the hunt,