Read Online The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence by Joseph Lallo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Joseph Lallo
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crystal. With a crystal, the
effect is doubled. Useful, yes?" he said.
The girl admired the work for a few more
moments before a suspicion crept into her mind.
"You only did this to raise the price on my
head again, didn't you?" she said.
"Heavens no. Not only that. I also
needed some practice in the manufacture of mystical weapons. I
almost never get the opportunity. I'm glad you thought to accuse
me, though. It shows that you are developing a healthier outlook on
the people around you," he said with a grin as he searched around
for some sheets of paper, some ink, and a quill.
" Healthy ? I thought the worst of you!"
she said.
"And you weren't completely wrong. You'll
find that you seldom are when you think the worst of people," he
said, finding some high quality parchment and ink.
"That is a terrible thing to say!" she
objected.
"Prove me wrong," he said, dipping a quill
and beginning to scribe in impressive calligraphy.
"What are you writing?" she asked.
"Paperwork. There is a fair amount of it
involved in transferring land," he said.
"Aren't you going to sleep?" she asked.
"I prefer to wait until my affairs are in
order," he said.
"And Lain? Does he ever sleep?" she
asked.
"Not in the traditional sense. They call it
'the warrior's sleep', but the two couldn't be more dissimilar," he
said.
"You spoke of the warrior's sleep before.
What is that?" she asked.
"It is . . . well . . . let us put it in
mystical terms. It is like meditation, only far, far deeper, and
not merely of the mind. It focuses the thoughts, and it brings the
body near to death. They have been teaching it at Entwell since the
beginning. I could never get the hang of it, but they say a few
minutes like that will do the work of a few hours of real sleep.
Back before he had someone to cook up healing potions, that is how
Lain dealt with serious injury. It is not nearly as fast as a
potion or a spell, but it is measurably better than simply
waiting," he explained.
"He never sleeps normally?" she asked.
"If you ever find him lying down, especially
in a bed, you can be certain it was not his idea," Desmeres
answered.
As she watched him sculpt the official
language of the paper with great care, she decided he had best be
left alone. She found herself drawn to the room that contained the
gold and the records. Myn's tapping claws followed her, and once
inside, the little dragon leapt up onto one of the chests that was
mostly coins, instinctively drawn to the gleaming treasure. She
curled up and watched Myranda as she approached the second shelf.
The books that filled the shelf were in groups of four. All told,
there were a few more than seventy such sets. She reasoned that,
since Desmeres had been partnered with him for roughly seventy
years, the groups must be by season and year, though if there was a
written indication of exactly what year each represented, it was
not in a form she recognized. It was just as well. The standard
method for labeling the years these days was to measure from the
day that the war had begun. By that measure the year was 156. The
thought depressed her.
In the days to come, days that seemed
painfully long with nothing to fill them, she spent much time
leafing through the books. The names of the people and places, as
well as the prices, were the only things not written in some
bizarre language that they had certainly learned at Entwell. As a
result, she found herself scanning the pages for any places or
names she knew. It seldom took long. A lifetime of journeying from
town to town had taken her to most of the places in the north.
Apparently Lain's business had done the same. People of much renown
were frequently named in the pages as well. Wealthy landowners,
merchants, and people of all walks of life had either hired his
blade or fallen to it. Without understanding the language it was
impossible to tell which. Much of what she saw she had heard in the
form of rumors over the years. The Red Shadow. The fact that he
effect is doubled. Useful, yes?" he said.
The girl admired the work for a few more
moments before a suspicion crept into her mind.
"You only did this to raise the price on my
head again, didn't you?" she said.
"Heavens no. Not only that. I also
needed some practice in the manufacture of mystical weapons. I
almost never get the opportunity. I'm glad you thought to accuse
me, though. It shows that you are developing a healthier outlook on
the people around you," he said with a grin as he searched around
for some sheets of paper, some ink, and a quill.
" Healthy ? I thought the worst of you!"
she said.
"And you weren't completely wrong. You'll
find that you seldom are when you think the worst of people," he
said, finding some high quality parchment and ink.
"That is a terrible thing to say!" she
objected.
"Prove me wrong," he said, dipping a quill
and beginning to scribe in impressive calligraphy.
"What are you writing?" she asked.
"Paperwork. There is a fair amount of it
involved in transferring land," he said.
"Aren't you going to sleep?" she asked.
"I prefer to wait until my affairs are in
order," he said.
"And Lain? Does he ever sleep?" she
asked.
"Not in the traditional sense. They call it
'the warrior's sleep', but the two couldn't be more dissimilar," he
said.
"You spoke of the warrior's sleep before.
What is that?" she asked.
"It is . . . well . . . let us put it in
mystical terms. It is like meditation, only far, far deeper, and
not merely of the mind. It focuses the thoughts, and it brings the
body near to death. They have been teaching it at Entwell since the
beginning. I could never get the hang of it, but they say a few
minutes like that will do the work of a few hours of real sleep.
Back before he had someone to cook up healing potions, that is how
Lain dealt with serious injury. It is not nearly as fast as a
potion or a spell, but it is measurably better than simply
waiting," he explained.
"He never sleeps normally?" she asked.
"If you ever find him lying down, especially
in a bed, you can be certain it was not his idea," Desmeres
answered.
As she watched him sculpt the official
language of the paper with great care, she decided he had best be
left alone. She found herself drawn to the room that contained the
gold and the records. Myn's tapping claws followed her, and once
inside, the little dragon leapt up onto one of the chests that was
mostly coins, instinctively drawn to the gleaming treasure. She
curled up and watched Myranda as she approached the second shelf.
The books that filled the shelf were in groups of four. All told,
there were a few more than seventy such sets. She reasoned that,
since Desmeres had been partnered with him for roughly seventy
years, the groups must be by season and year, though if there was a
written indication of exactly what year each represented, it was
not in a form she recognized. It was just as well. The standard
method for labeling the years these days was to measure from the
day that the war had begun. By that measure the year was 156. The
thought depressed her.
In the days to come, days that seemed
painfully long with nothing to fill them, she spent much time
leafing through the books. The names of the people and places, as
well as the prices, were the only things not written in some
bizarre language that they had certainly learned at Entwell. As a
result, she found herself scanning the pages for any places or
names she knew. It seldom took long. A lifetime of journeying from
town to town had taken her to most of the places in the north.
Apparently Lain's business had done the same. People of much renown
were frequently named in the pages as well. Wealthy landowners,
merchants, and people of all walks of life had either hired his
blade or fallen to it. Without understanding the language it was
impossible to tell which. Much of what she saw she had heard in the
form of rumors over the years. The Red Shadow. The fact that he
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