Part 10 (2/2)
”And Myn?” she interrupted.
”Tied up in the sack. We were . . . ” he attempted.
”Why?” she thwarted.
”She couldn't go with Lain, she won't listen to me, and I didn't want to leave her alone,” he blurted before she could interrupt again.
”Why are you helping me to escape?” she asked.
”They didn't come through with the full price. Just a bit more than half,” Desmeres said dismissively. ”Myranda, what did they do to you in there?”
”Why would they . . . They know! Desmeres, tell me, where is Lain?” she demanded, suddenly with an urgency that cut through her weariness.
”The plan was for me to create a distraction long enough for him to slip over the wall and inside. I was weighing possibilities when that mayhem started, which we both agreed was a bit more distraction than we had hoped for. He had to wait until the guards went off high alert, then slipped over the back wall. Presumably he is still inside. Why?” he asked.
”They've been trying to get into my head. They know he is Chosen. They will try to capture him, or kill him, I'm not sure. That has to be why they didn't pay the full price. They knew he would come back to get me! We need to find him!” she said.
”Relax, Myranda, relax. Lain and I have been at this for a very long time. I am not so naive as to a.s.sume that this was a regrettable accounting error. We are prepared for every contingency. Now, I have some food here. I think you should eat something,” Desmeres said, concern in his voice as he removed the bag from his back and began rummaging though it. Outside, the wind began to gust.
”Not now! I will not be responsible for another person being locked away in this place! We will find him and we will escape!” Myranda said.
A shadow darkened the doorway, drawing her attention. It was Lain, holding the bag Myranda had been carrying when she arrived.
”The sword isn't here,” Lain said, similarly dressed. He tossed the bag to her feet.
”Lain! You have to leave this place! Run!” she said.
”That is the plan,” Desmeres agreed. ”But first, Myranda, open your hand.”
”I am not hungry!” Myranda said, lying through her teeth for the sake of a quicker escape.
”But you are bleeding. Open up,” he said, removing a thin gla.s.s vial from the bag.
She held the nasty looking injury out. Desmeres snapped the vial. Instantly Myranda felt as though he had poured boiling lead into her palm. She gasped and pulled it back.
”I am afraid that is supposed to happen. I am not particularly skilled at healing potions,” Desmeres apologized.
When the pain subsided, Myranda opened her hand to see that the injury was closed, though the dried remnants of it still stained her palm. A moment later the trio stepped tentatively into the fading light of the courtyard. All was still. They approached the doors, still open from the mob's escape. Lain held out an arm signaling the others to stop. He took a long, slow deliberate whiff of the air. A hint of concern came to his face.
”Not satisfied?” Desmeres asked.
”This wind. It is circling around us. It isn't bringing me anything useful,” he said, scanning the horizon with his eyes.
”Perhaps there is nothing to smell,” Desmeres offered.
In response Lain locked his eyes on a spot in the distance, his hands moving to the hilt of his sword. Whatever it was, it was approaching from the air, and very quickly. Between the fort and the nearest cover was a field of snow and ice. Lain alone might have succeeded in reaching it before the form in the sky was upon them.
Deacon ran to the small hut at the edge of the village where they housed their prophet. A pair of apprentices, one an older man and the other a young woman, were sitting inside. They were both clearly desperate for a distraction from their painfully dull a.s.signment. The winded young wizard who burst through the door was thus a welcome sight to them.
”Master Deacon, is there something wrong?” the woman asked.
”No, no. I have come to relieve you Mera, and you Karr,” he said, slowly regaining his breath.
”Oh!” Mera, the woman proclaimed excitedly, but drooped as a thought occurred to her. ”But I've six more hours in my s.h.i.+ft. And Karr has three.”
”I believe I have the seniority necessary to give you your freedom a few hours early,” he said.
The pair was quite happy to have the afternoon returned. Neither was so foolish as to ask why one of the usually self interested Masters would take such a fruitless job. Nor did they stop to mention the policy that at least two witnesses be present when monitoring the prophet. When they had left, Deacon positioned a chair before Hollow and sat. The old, frail figure showed no signs of life. His head hung limply down, his hands and arms clearly posed into some semblance of comfort. He gazed with the faded, cloudy eyes of a corpse. Despite all of this, Deacon could not help but offer a few moments of reverent silence. Finally, after a deep breath, he spoke.
”Hollow. Your connection to the spirits is unparalleled. I know that you only speak when the spirits direct it, but there is a matter of great concern at hand,” he said.
The fragile figure sat motionless.
”I have been using my own limited skills to monitor a woman you spoke to directly during your last recitation. She appears to be in danger. I do not have the capacity to see for certain what is in store for her. I beseech you, oh great prophet, to speak on her behalf. Tell of her place on the path. Tell what the fates have planned for her,” he said.
Silence.
”If I have read your predictions correctly, she could have a vital role in bringing the Chosen together. If she is in danger, the very prophesy may be in danger,” he offered.
Silence.
”Listen to me . . . Tober,” he spoke quietly, invoking the name that Hollow had once been called. ”If there is anything left of you, you must believe me. I must know about her.”
Silence.
”d.a.m.n it, old man! Listen!” Deacon cried, leaping up and hoisting Hollow from the chair by his tunic. It was like lifting a scarecrow. ”I need to know! I need to know if she will be all right! I need to know that she will come back to us! That she will come back to me! This world cannot survive without her! I cannot survive without her! Speak! SPEAK!”
Withered fingers suddenly wrapped around his neck and he was wrenched into the air. Deacon grasped the old man's wrist and gasped for breath.
The forms in the sky grew nearer.
”Myranda, I think you and I had best slip inside until the threat pa.s.ses,” Desmeres suggested.
”I am not going back in there,” Myranda said, pulling her staff and dagger from her bag.
The moment she touched the staff, a clarity she forgotten she could achieve seeped slowly into her mind. She was still weak, but she at least could think.
”Give me Myn,” she demanded.
”Now is not the best time for a reunion. There is something on the way, and the only reason anything would be headed to this G.o.dforsaken place so quickly would be to kill one or more of us,” Desmeres pointed out as he reluctantly lowered the bag to the ground.
”If there is fighting to be done, I don't want her to be helpless,” Myranda said, cutting the bonds.
Myn instantly was on top of her, lavis.h.i.+ng weeks of affection all at once. Myranda toppled to the ground.
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