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

entering his
trance and leaving the others to pick at the meager provisions and
leftovers they had managed to set aside beside an equally meager
fire. Typically Ether would take advantage of the flames. Instead,
she sat sullenly beside Lain, her furious gaze locked on Ivy, who
had pranced over and sat beside Lain, resting her head on his
shoulder. Myranda was settling down for sleep when she noticed
Deacon was leafing through a book rather than doing the same.
    “Deacon, that can wait. You will need your
rest,” Myranda advised.
    “I know, but . . . I just can't put this
down. It is so . . . new . . . so different,” he said, trying
briefly to set it aside before turning his eyes eagerly back to the
pages.
    “What do you mean?” she asked.
    “Now that Ivy has filled most of the gaps in
my understanding of this language, I can read the spell book. I've
. . . never seen anything that has even approached the subject
matter that this book covers,” he said.
    “How can that be? I thought your colleagues
were the best in their fields. How can there be something you've
never seen?” she wonders.
    “Well, as you know, there are a number of
practices that my fellow wizards at Entwell frown upon. I happen to
be the foremost authority in . . . well, all of them. However,
there are two that we are explicitly forbidden to perform, or even
pursue beyond theory,” he said. “The first is any act that can
interfere in any way with past events; time travel and the like.
The second is any act that contacts another physical realm.
Summoning creatures, opening gateways, even communicating with
creatures on another plane. These D'karon . . . they have based
their entire practice around the latter of these forbidden arts.
There is a fragment of a spell for opening a path to some other
world that is presented with solemn reverence. It is almost a
prayer to them.”
    “Why would such practices be forbidden to
you?” Myranda asked.
    “It has been known to the elders of Entwell
that the threat that the Chosen were to face would come from
outside of this world. They believed that such a threat could be at
least delayed and at best prevented if it was assured that no
contact with other realms was ever made. Clearly fate would not be
so easily denied,” he said. “And now I am left with no knowledge of
how to combat such a tactic. Though I can determine the spell to
open such a gateway from what is written here, I cannot determine
how to close one. It is possible . . . that there is no way
to close one . . . “
    “There must be a way,” Myranda said.
    “I am not so certain. Do you remember when
Epidime escaped in the town? He opened a portal. It closed behind
him and sent out a shock wave. I don't believe that is an intended
effect of the spell. It felt like a backlash, as through the will
of the spell was pulled from it before it had time to complete.
That was merely the remaining magic spilling off in a raw form,” he
said.
    “I don't understand,” Myranda replied.
    “Neither do I, not entirely, but . . . once a
portal is allowed to fully open, I don't think that even they would know how to close it,” he said anxiously.
    “Do you suppose that such a portal already
exists?” Myranda asked.
    “Well, it looks from Demont's notes that the
nearmen, the dragoyles, everything that we've faced thus far, were
designed and produced in this world . . . but the generals
themselves must have gotten here somehow,” he stated gravely.
    It was that chilling thought that would
accompany Myranda to sleep that night. It was not enough to
overcome her exhaustion, however. As the haziness of sleep drew
over her, she found herself in a familiar place. A dark field. No
sky, no trees. There was a cold wind rustling past her. Far in the
distance was a vague flickering light. She pulled her cloak closer
and hurried toward it. The ground became rocky and increasingly
entangled with black, thorny vines. After what seemed like hours
she came to the