The Book of Deacon (23 page)

As she stared at the totality of the
information, a solution stared back at her. All of this had a
familiar ring to it. A color . . . a texture to the events that
she'd become sensitive to. She knew that the assassin had been sent
for the sword, and that he likely still held it. That much was not
a mystery. The mystery was where he could be found, and it was one
of which she'd spent decades frequently in the pursuit of a
solution.

She didn't have the time for that. She needed
progress quickly. Some sort of step forward. The reports of the
escape held clues. The horses were missing. The armor was missing.
There had been looting. Not unheard of, save for the destruction of
the black carriage. That was an act of vengeance. Only one group
sought weapons, armor, and revenge. The Undermine. Trigorah stood
and stalked out to her waiting Elites.

"Saddle up, men. We are heading east," she
ordered.

#

The first rays of the sun stirred the two
travelers. They were both near-frozen, spared a complete blanket of
snow only by their proximity to a thickly-needled pine tree. Great
mounds of the white stuff surrounded the tree and buried the lower
third of their bodies. Myranda managed to get her numbed limbs
beneath her and roll off of Myn. Even after being healed, Myn had
lost too much blood to last the long, cold night alone. She would
have surely died if not for the impromptu blanket in the form of
the unconscious body of Myranda. The dragon hoisted herself to her
feet and released a mighty blast of fire. Instantly, the warm blood
surged through her body, bringing new life to cold muscles. A
second blast brought her strength and comfort back to normal.

The brief blasts of warmth that Myn had
created did little to restore feeling to Myranda's icy fingers. She
gathered together the only wood available, green boughs broken free
by the powerful wind. Some of the snow was pushed aside to provide
an appropriate place to start the fire, but she knew that she had
little chance of sparking a flame. She had no tools to do so, and
the fresh wood would be slow to light. The cold had robbed her of
nearly all dexterity, and she knew that if she didn't get feeling
back into her legs soon, she never would. She looked pleadingly to
Myn.

"Fire. Please understand me, Myn. Just this
once I need fire," she said.

The dragon looked back innocently.

"Here, feel. Heat does not return so easily
to me as it does to you," Myranda said, placing a hand on Myn's
neck.

The little creature pulled away from her icy
touch and glared at the offending limb. She traced the arm back to
Myranda's face, then back at the hand. When she looked to her face
again, there was understanding dawning in the young creature's
eyes.

"Yes, yes. I am very cold, I need fire," she
begged again.

Myn's chest puffed up as she made ready to
blast a third column of flame directly at Myranda. She pulled
quickly away.

"No, no! Not me! There! The wood!" she said,
gesturing desperately.

Myn furrowed her brow as she looked
doubtfully at the wood. When she looked to Myranda again, she saw
the face reserved for when she has done something right, so she
knew what to do. A blast of fiery breath directed at the wood did
in a moment what would have taken ages for Myranda to do. She held
her hands over the fire as Myn sat next to her in the warm
glow.

"Well, Myn. I suppose this makes us even. I
have saved your life, and you've saved mine. Once I get a bit more
feeling in these frost-nipped digits, I will give you the reward I
know you are waiting for. I am going to give you the best
scratching you've ever had," she assured her friend.

After a few minutes a strong tingling came to
her nearly frostbitten fingers. Though it was painful, she welcomed
it, as it meant her hands had not been damaged by the cold. As soon
as the painful sensation subsided enough, she gave Myn what she
wanted. The dragon drank in the joy as her companion stroked
lovingly at her head. In truth, through the thick scales, she could
barely feel it, but she loved it just the same.

Myranda continued to indulge her friend until
her hand was exhausted. Even so, the dragon looked at her as though
she was a criminal for stopping. Her offense was short-lived, as a
sound and a scent drew her attentions to the woods. She was off in
a flash. Myranda had managed to take most of the chill from her
body by the time Myn came back with what had been a moderately
sized wild turkey.

"That is quite a catch! What are you going to
do with all of that . . . oh . . . oh my . . ." she said, turning
away from the gruesome answer to her question.

The powerful jaws of the dragon, who just
minutes before had been as gentle and loving as a kitten, now made
short work of the prey, tearing great pieces of meat away and
eating them in greedy gulps without chewing. A few more swallows
and the bird, bones and all, had all but disappeared. It was this
seldom-seen side of her friend that disturbed her. She often forgot
that the dragon was a wild animal. When the snapping and crunching
had ended, Myranda ventured a peek at the very satisfied creature.
The dragon licked the stray drips of blood from her maw with a few
deft swipes with her long tongue.

"You've something to learn in the way of
table manners," Myranda said.

She looked at the odd scattering of leftovers
from the primal meal. As disgusted as Myranda was at the spectacle
of the creature eating, it had not been enough to make her forget
that she hadn't eaten the day before. She smirked. In the past it
was not at all uncommon for her to skip a day or two between meals.
The opportunities to eat were often few and far between. Her time
in this rather austere place of learning had managed to spoil her
nonetheless, as she had become accustomed to the luxury of a daily
meal.

The smile faded from her face as she turned
her eyes to the south. It had taken the hours from noon to
nightfall to find this place, and that was on a good night's sleep
and with fear speeding her stride. The return trip would take twice
as long, even ignoring the thick blanket of fresh snow.

The hungry girl's gaze turned to the
leftovers beside Myn once more. Among the mangled feathers and
other debris was a shred of meat. Myranda plucked it from the snow
and, in a decision motivated more by hunger than good sense, deemed
the sorry morsel edible. By the time she had stripped away the
feathers and other less than appetizing parts from the meat, it was
barely enough to fill her palm. She skewered it on a pine bough and
held it over the fire. Myn watched her friend with her usual
curiosity before disappearing into the woods once more.

"Don't stray too far," she said more to
herself than the dragon. "After this mouthful is savored we need to
head back to Wolloff's."

With a bit of time to spare while the meat
heated, she let her mind wander. The spell she'd managed to cast
had muddied her thoughts more than a night collapsed in freezing
cold could repair. The lingering cobwebs led her mind in slow,
meandering circles around a fleeting concern. Something about the
battleground she'd passed through to reach this place. It didn't
seem like Myn was involved in that first clash . . . but someone
must have been. Someone who could take four well equipped soldiers
before . . . before what? And why were there soldiers in Ravenwood
to begin with?

The smell of burning food brought her
thoughts back to reality. It seemed she had daydreamed just long
enough for her food to leap from one side of edibility to the
other. The meager chunk of meat was now a charred piece of sinew
dangling from the end of the stick. Left with little recourse she
took the piece into her hand and surveyed it with a frown before
trying her best to gnaw off a bite to choke down. It was like
chewing on leather. The crunching footsteps of Myn's return made
her decide that it was better to go without than to risk whatever
damage she might do to her stomach by swallowing the shriveled
wreck. As if to add insult to injury, Myn carried with her another
fresh kill.

"Another one?" Myranda said with a frown,
spitting the taste from her mouth and tossing the glorified piece
of charcoal aside. "Aren't you full yet?"

The dragon marched up and dropped her prize
in front of Myranda.

"What are you doing? If you are going to eat
it take it over there. I don't want to see that sight again," she
requested.

The dragon just nudged the meal a bit closer
with her snout and plopped down, staring expectantly at
Myranda.

"Is . . . Is this for me? You little angel!"
she proclaimed, throwing her arms about the Myn's neck and hugging
her warmly.

The little dragon reveled in the attention,
even after the hug had ended, as Myranda rained loving praise down
on her while she prepared the meat. Just the sound of Myranda's
voice brought joy to her heart. It was, after all, the first sound
she had heard in life, and to hear it lifted by happiness and
gratefulness was more than enough payment for services
rendered.

Getting the turkey ready to eat without the
aid of a knife proved to be quite a task, one further complicated
by arms and legs still clumsy from a night in the freezing cold.
Soon enough, though, she was savoring the tantalizingly fresh meat.
She pulled whatever parts seemed warm enough to eat away and
eagerly devoured them while the rest of the bird cooked. Before
long, she had taken the edge from her hunger and then some. She was
shocked by how good it was. Even the meals she ate at Wolloff's
were generally composed of meat that was far from its prime. This
was a meal fresher than even a king could enjoy. A final bite
convinced her that the age-old phrase was wrong. Eat like a king?
Ha! Eat like a dragon! She threw the leftover meat to Myn, who
snapped it up quickly.

"Well, now. We have slept. We have eaten. Let
us be on our way!" she said.

Her legs were the things most affected by the
long cold night and did not serve her quite as well as she would
have liked. She nearly fell to the ground twice while kicking snow
onto the fire to extinguish it. As a result, she had to stick to
traveling where the snow was thinnest, taking wide circles around
the now-towering drifts that the blizzard had dumped into her
return path. Luckily, the snow was thick and heavy, with only the
top few inches thin enough to sink into. Otherwise, even the
shallow valleys between drifts would swallow her up to her waist.
After a few minutes of walking, her legs finally seemed to remember
how to handle the snow, and walking became less of a conscious
affair. It only then that she noticed how Myn was acting.

The usually jovial beast seemed more and more
spiritless with each passing moment. Her tail, normally alive with
twisting and curling, hung down behind her, dragging a faint line
in the snow. Every few steps she would draw in a long, slow breath
through her nose and look about longingly. Myranda grew concerned.
Myn had never acted this way before. For all appearances, she
seemed to miss someone. But who?

"What is it, little one? Who do you miss? Was
it the one the soldiers were fighting?" Myranda asked.

The duo was passing through the site of the
first battle. The snow was much deeper, with only the very tops of
the grave markers visible. Myranda lifted a helmet from one of the
improvised memorials and showed it to the dragon.

"Did these men take it from you, the thing
you miss so much?" she asked, showing Myn.

The beast's eyes locked onto the armor piece,
fury burning behind them. She clamped onto the helmet with her
teeth and shook it viciously. Her teeth scraped at the intricate
enamel and the pressure of her jaws dented and bent the thick metal
plates. She continued to thrash it about while walking until she
came to a seemingly random patch of snow. She dropped the helmet
and pawed at the fresh white powder madly.

"What are you doing?" Myranda asked, further
confused by her companion's strange behavior.

More than two feet of digging later, the snow
took on a pink tint. She buried her snout in it and inhaled deeply.
After a second sniff she raised her head again, sorrow behind her
eyes. She offered a long, soulful call, halfway between a howl and
a moan. It was the first sound that Myranda had heard the dragon
make, aside from a few hisses and grumbles. This was different.
There was a voice behind it, pouring out sorrow. This was not just
a mindless creature. This was a thinking, feeling being.

After a pause, with her head hung low, she
locked her gaze on the helmet again. Puffing out her chest, she
unleashed a burst of flame longer and hotter than Myranda had ever
seen her muster. She then snatched the blackened and sizzling piece
of armor out of the wet pit of melted snow and continued to gnaw
and shake it, as though she was punishing it for her sorrow. Even
when they began walking again, she continued her catharsis.

#

The sky was rosy with sunset when the two
found their way to the door of the tower. No doubt due to some
mystic meddling, the building and the area around it seemed wholly
unaffected by the night of snowfall. Myn was fairly exhausted from
her wrestling with the helmet, but refused to release it from her
mouth. When Myranda pushed the door wearily open, she was greeted
by a slow, deliberate clapping from Wolloff.

"Congratulations, lass. You risked your life,
passed out, and nearly starved and froze, but you managed to bring
back a meaningless animal safely," he said.

Myranda came inside, stomping the snow from
her boots.

"And what is this?" he asked, shocked at what
he saw.

"What?" Myranda asked, looking down.

Myn had followed her inside and positioned
herself between Myranda and Wolloff. She dropped the helmet heavily
to the floor and bared her teeth in a fearsome snarl.