Read Online The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence by Joseph Lallo - Free Book Online
Authors: Joseph Lallo
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explanations," she said, less than pleased
with this glimpse into the disturbingly well crafted manipulations
of her host.
"I'd warned that my honesty would become
bothersome . . . " he said, looking up distractedly. "Lain . . . he
didn't bring a weapon, did he?"
"I didn't notice. I suppose not. Why? Are you
concerned for him?" she asked.
"No, for any who may face him," he said.
"I don't understand," she said.
"When . . . when he holds a weapon,
particularly one of mine, he is a graceful, silent, clean killer.
When he is unarmed, he is something else altogether. Vicious,
forceful. He reverts to something primal. I dare say he is even
more deadly that way, but in a way that is unmistakably animal,"
Desmeres said with a chill.
"What do you care?" she asked.
"If a man must die, so be it, but there is no
reason to be cruel. I must finish his weapon. But first I must
finish yours, and the paperwork. So much to do, and only seven days
to do it," he said, turning back to his task.
Myranda found her way back to the room with
the table, where she had set up her bed roll, and retired. Try as
she might, though, she could not bring herself to sleep. She was
more at home on the freezing ground outside than in this place.
Knowing that all that surrounded her was paid for by blood turned
her stomach. She wondered how the peace of the world could be left
to the whims of such twisted minds. The best she could manage was a
light doze, interrupted periodically by an odd sound or smell
emanating from Desmeres' workshop. Myn, lying atop her as always,
slept peacefully until what must have been morning. When the dragon
roused, Myranda decided she may as well end this fruitless pursuit
of sleep. She wandered into Desmeres' workshop.
The half-elf, visibly weary, was admiring
what he had done to the staff. He noticed her walk in and held it
up proudly. Myranda took it from his hands. It felt much lighter.
He had carved a good deal of the exterior down and shaped it
carefully. Her fingers fit easily and comfortably around it. The
color was different, streaked with darker colors that made the
formerly white surface resemble the gray bark of a tree, and
covering the surface were dozens of small, intricately carved
symbols. She had noticed the same symbols decorating the blades and
handles of nearly every other weapon in the room. Lowering its tip
to the floor, she found it stood at a more appropriate height than
before. His improvements were apparent, though she wondered about
the reasoning for some.
"Why the darker color?" she asked.
"A side effect of the solutions I soaked it
in to strengthen it. Natural wood at the thickness that is
appropriate for your hand size would not be strong enough for my
tastes. I could restore the color, if you like," he said.
"I don't much care. What of the symbols?" she
asked.
"Runes. Lain has put them to fine use over
the years, and I see no reason why you couldn't do the same. He
doesn't know a word of magic, as I’ve said, so he needed something
that could turn the defensive skills he does have into something
effective against magic. Those runes will allow you to defend
against spells tossed in your direction as though they were
conventional attacks. You can deflect a fireball as easily as a
thrown stone, or shatter a conjured shield spell as though it were
glass, all without wasting an ounce of your own mystic strength. Of
course, a stronger spell is more difficult to deflect, just as a
larger stone is. Also, though I stand by my work, I cannot
guarantee that the enhancements will work against all magics. It is
an ever changing area, after all," he said.
Myranda tested the strength of the now much
thinner tool. Touching it for the first time in a day, she was
struck by the clarity of mind it brought. Certainly the effect had
not been so noticeable before. Seeming to notice her expression,
Desmeres offered an explanation.
"Among other things, I treated the wood so
that it will aid focus in absence of a
with this glimpse into the disturbingly well crafted manipulations
of her host.
"I'd warned that my honesty would become
bothersome . . . " he said, looking up distractedly. "Lain . . . he
didn't bring a weapon, did he?"
"I didn't notice. I suppose not. Why? Are you
concerned for him?" she asked.
"No, for any who may face him," he said.
"I don't understand," she said.
"When . . . when he holds a weapon,
particularly one of mine, he is a graceful, silent, clean killer.
When he is unarmed, he is something else altogether. Vicious,
forceful. He reverts to something primal. I dare say he is even
more deadly that way, but in a way that is unmistakably animal,"
Desmeres said with a chill.
"What do you care?" she asked.
"If a man must die, so be it, but there is no
reason to be cruel. I must finish his weapon. But first I must
finish yours, and the paperwork. So much to do, and only seven days
to do it," he said, turning back to his task.
Myranda found her way back to the room with
the table, where she had set up her bed roll, and retired. Try as
she might, though, she could not bring herself to sleep. She was
more at home on the freezing ground outside than in this place.
Knowing that all that surrounded her was paid for by blood turned
her stomach. She wondered how the peace of the world could be left
to the whims of such twisted minds. The best she could manage was a
light doze, interrupted periodically by an odd sound or smell
emanating from Desmeres' workshop. Myn, lying atop her as always,
slept peacefully until what must have been morning. When the dragon
roused, Myranda decided she may as well end this fruitless pursuit
of sleep. She wandered into Desmeres' workshop.
The half-elf, visibly weary, was admiring
what he had done to the staff. He noticed her walk in and held it
up proudly. Myranda took it from his hands. It felt much lighter.
He had carved a good deal of the exterior down and shaped it
carefully. Her fingers fit easily and comfortably around it. The
color was different, streaked with darker colors that made the
formerly white surface resemble the gray bark of a tree, and
covering the surface were dozens of small, intricately carved
symbols. She had noticed the same symbols decorating the blades and
handles of nearly every other weapon in the room. Lowering its tip
to the floor, she found it stood at a more appropriate height than
before. His improvements were apparent, though she wondered about
the reasoning for some.
"Why the darker color?" she asked.
"A side effect of the solutions I soaked it
in to strengthen it. Natural wood at the thickness that is
appropriate for your hand size would not be strong enough for my
tastes. I could restore the color, if you like," he said.
"I don't much care. What of the symbols?" she
asked.
"Runes. Lain has put them to fine use over
the years, and I see no reason why you couldn't do the same. He
doesn't know a word of magic, as I’ve said, so he needed something
that could turn the defensive skills he does have into something
effective against magic. Those runes will allow you to defend
against spells tossed in your direction as though they were
conventional attacks. You can deflect a fireball as easily as a
thrown stone, or shatter a conjured shield spell as though it were
glass, all without wasting an ounce of your own mystic strength. Of
course, a stronger spell is more difficult to deflect, just as a
larger stone is. Also, though I stand by my work, I cannot
guarantee that the enhancements will work against all magics. It is
an ever changing area, after all," he said.
Myranda tested the strength of the now much
thinner tool. Touching it for the first time in a day, she was
struck by the clarity of mind it brought. Certainly the effect had
not been so noticeable before. Seeming to notice her expression,
Desmeres offered an explanation.
"Among other things, I treated the wood so
that it will aid focus in absence of a
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