Part 3 (1/2)
”Listen,” he said, swiftly drawing it from its sheath.
There wasn't a whisper of sound. He then ran his finger along the flat of the blade. The immaculate metal resonated with a crystal clear tone.
”There are more than a few blacksmiths that would give their right hand to learn how I make these. Those are the secrets I'm worried about. A fellow by the name of Flinn has gotten wealthy off of one of my daggers...” he said, immediately changing the subject. ”Say, you know what I haven't made in a dog's age? A staff. Lain doesn't use magic. Not a word of it. Frankly, it doesn't make any sense to me, because he swears by that 'warrior's sleep' they taught him back in the belly of the beast, and that is deeper and harder to manage than any trance. I've made normal staffs, but a casting staff would be a fine diversion. You say you are a full master? I suppose that I would be justified in giving you a piece of my handiwork, but . . . I just can't be sure. I would have to see you in action before I made something from scratch. I might not mind working on the one you've already got, though.”
Myranda shook her head in disbelief again. He spoke of betraying his friend and having a relations.h.i.+p with his enemy as though it was nothing, but the very moment that the subject of weaponry was introduced, he latched onto it with boundless interest. Before she could object, Desmeres had fetched her staff.
”Good heavens. Have they still got Coda making these? I could improve this immeasurably. There are at least a dozen runes that could make this doubly resistant to hostile spells. A few potion infusions. Yes. This could be a fine weapon . . . Gracious, this is heavy. Did they give this to you?” he asked.
” . . . No, Deacon gave it to me,” she said. She knew by now that attempting to bring closure to anything that Desmeres wasn't interested in discussing anymore was useless.
”Well, Deacon must not be a weapon specialist, because this is the wrong size, weight, and shape for someone like you. The crystal could use work as well, but I haven't got the equipment for that. Not here anyway,” he said.
That was the last she heard from him for most of the day. He retired to a corner of the weapon room and set himself to work, flipping through books, selecting tools, and carving at the staff. Myranda watched for a time. He worked with a speed, grace, and enthusiasm that she admired. He must truly love the work. Before long, though, her mind became fixed on other things. She moved back to the dining room and retired to a chair. Myn had finished shedding and looked to Myranda for attention. The girl moved to the ground to better dote upon her friend. She patted the little creature, whose scales were now as smooth and s.h.i.+ny as the day she was born. As she did, she thought.
She thought back to her encounter with Trigorah. It pained her to think of it. She was desperate to escape. In her desperation she nearly killed the commander. Now it was possible that all of this time they had been dedicated to the same goal. If she had only turned herself over, all of this could have been avoided. But then, if she had turned herself in then she would not have helped to conjure the other Chosen in Entwell, and she would not know nearly as much magic. She would not have even been sure of Lain's place in the Chosen. Was it all part of the prophesy? All part of the plan for the world that she would not know the truth until she had earned it? So much hards.h.i.+p had come since then... Her reverie was interrupted when Desmeres entered the room.
”Ah, excellent, the dragon has shed her skin,” he said, gathering up the blanket and dumping the remnants of the act into a bag. ”This is a very useful and very rare resource. I can think of a dozen or more things to do with this.”
”Then when you put down the blanket, you didn't want to make Myn more comfortable, you wanted to make it easier to collect up the shedding?” Myranda said, annoyed that yet another seeming act of kindness was false.
”Yes. Would you stand up, please?” he asked.
”Why?” she asked.
”I need your exact height,” he said, offering a hand to help her up.
Myranda reluctantly accepted the help. He looked her up and down, eventually asking to see her hands as well. Once he seemed satisfied with sizing her up, he told her so.
”Before you sit down, though, I imagine you might like something nicer than the floor to sleep on. We haven't got any beds, but there are a few bed rolls. One for each of us and a spare. If that dragon of yours . . . ” he began.
”Her name is Myn,” Myranda interjected.
”If Myn can hold onto her flame, I would not mind offering her the spare,” he said.
”Myn likes to sleep on top of me,” Myranda said.
”Do you like for her to sleep atop you?” he asked.
”I don't mind it,” she replied.
”Then by all means let it continue. Sleep wherever you find room enough on the floor to do so, though I would not recommend directly below the entrance. It would lead to a rather rude awakening,” he said.
Myranda accepted the bed roll and set it up, but she was not ready for sleep yet. She sat up longer and thought. It was perhaps a few hours more, in the dead of the night, when the door quietly creaked open and Lain deactivated the traps and slipped back inside. Desmeres was too busy at his task to notice the entry. Lain sat at the table in front of Myranda. He had nothing new with him. The dragon leapt from her lap to his, eager for the novelty of her other favorite creature in the world.
”Desmeres has shown me around,” Myranda said.
Lain s.h.i.+fted his gaze to her without acknowledging her words.
”I have seen the books. The first two shelves are all about your business. Desmeres would not tell me what the third shelf's books were for,” she said.
”Desmeres knows his place,” he said.
”All I have to do is ask, you know. You have made a promise to me,” she said.
”So I have,” he answered.
”Then tell me. What is the purpose? Most of the pages do not even have names,” she said.
”I am not interested in names. I am interested in people,” he said.
”Tell me what I want to know,” she demanded.
”Those are drops of blood. I collect one from each person who owes me a favor so that I can identify them by scent,” he said.
”Owe you favors?” she asked.
”I have helped them in some way,” he said.
”Oh? I suppose that you murdered someone for them and they have yet to pay you,” Myranda said harshly.
”Now, now. That is an oversimplification of the services that we offer,” Desmeres said, drawn by the voices. ”We don't merely kill people. We also dabble in espionage. To wit, I have here every dispatch that we have managed to seize from the military through our various channels since you went missing. Allow me to condense. Up until about six weeks ago, dispatches were flying in every direction with inadequate and frankly rather skewed descriptions of Myranda here. Separately, there have been significant efforts put into reminding the populace of the evils of malthropes. Then the messages began to taper off. By the end, the rather thin selection of messages available all seemed to agree that the primary targets of late are dead or of no more concern. That is, of course, except for one that we managed to sneak a peak at en route from Trigorah herself to General Bagu, urging that the search not be ended until a body is found. I have reason to believe that Bagu agrees. He may even have sent one of the other Generals to give Trigorah a hand, although other dispatches seem to indicate a second General has been involved for some time,” he said.
”What does all of this mean for us?” Myranda asked.
”For us it means that we will be facing the Elite as a smaller, more focused, and much more powerful group. Fortunately, thanks to Lain's less than subtle actions prior to retreating to the Belly of the Beast, the Elite proper has been reduced to a handful of men, and with the way the combat on the front lines has been heating up, I cannot foresee many new members anytime soon. The rest are just mercenaries in uniforms, comparatively no threat at all. It also means that if we disguise you a bit, we may be able transport you from one place to another without rousing too much suspicion. So long as you don't run into Trigorah herself, who knows your face,” he said.
”But Trigorah is the one person I want to meet. She is the one who can deliver me to the Alliance Army safely so that I can begin finding the other Chosen,” Myranda said.
Lain's gaze s.h.i.+fted sternly to Myranda.
”Yes. She has leapt to a rather lofty conclusion about the AA seeking to help her join the Chosen together,” Desmeres explained.
”You agreed,” Myranda said.
”I agreed it was possible. I also remarked that it was not at all likely. I could have guessed that their intentions for you are not quite hospitable, but there is no sense guessing about one's intentions when we can read them in their own words. From Bagu to Trigorah a few months ago. 'I cannot stress the importance of this capture enough. As long as this target remains out of our reach, the possibility of failure exists. We must have her, if possible alive. She could be an invaluable resource.' Capture, target, resource, if possible alive? These do not sound like the words of a helpful and concerned party,” he said.
”I don't care,” she said.
”If you knew more about the people who want you, you might. You need to learn just who is really after you. The five generals are the ones most interested. Regardless of what you may have seen or heard, the generals are not the sort of people that you want looking for you. I know that you think that they have the best of intentions for you and the world, but keep in mind that if not for them, this war would have come to an end, possibly peacefully, decades ago.”
”What do you mean?” she asked.
”There are standing orders from the generals to kill anyone sent to broker a peace. There is every indication that those have been the orders since the war began,” he explained.
”So I have heard . . . wait. This war has been fought off and on for the past hundred and fifty years. How could the same five generals be at fault?” she asked.
”They aren't human. At least, four of them aren't for certain. Trigorah is an elf, as you know, but she was the last to be made a general, well after the war began. As for the others . . . I believe that they are D'karon,” he said.
”D'karon? The inhuman creatures? The ones that created those wretched Cloaks and . . . and the dragon thing that killed the swordsman?” she cried. ”I don't believe it.”