The Book of Deacon: Book 03 - The Battle of Verril by Joseph Lallo Page A

prevalent feature was the pair of ruts that ran in
parallel along the ground, just the right distance apart to be
wagon tracks, and deep enough to have been the result of continuous
traffic.
    “What was that all about?” Ivy blurted as
they came into view. “Lain said that there were some friends of
yours that would be meeting you. Why couldn't I meet them too?”
    Lain looked at her sternly.
    “It isn't good, Lain. Show him,” she stated
with measured calmness.
    Deacon pulled out the proclamation and handed
it to him. The anger inside of him boiled just below the surface,
but it was all too clear to the others.
    “The Undermine is trying to take them down,
but they are showing up everywhere,” she explained.
    “What? Let me see!” Ivy said, standing on tip
toe to look over Lain's shoulder. “There's a picture of me there!
Ugh. It looks like it was drawn by the same person who drew that
picture of me that Deacon had. They all do. Except Ether.”
    Myranda looked about. The shape shifter was
missing.
    “Where is she?” Myranda asked.
    “She went to get food. We aren't going to be
able to hunt in the tunnel and she didn't want to be alone with me
while Lain went to get food, so she went,” Ivy said, with the air
of a tattletale.
    “That . . . may not turn out well,” Deacon
remarked. “She doesn't strike me as the sort that is terribly
concerned with exactly what it is that we eat, or the proper way to
get it.”
    “I wonder how she will bring the food back,”
Ivy mused absentmindedly. “You don't think she is stupid enough to
carry it along with her in the wind, do you?”
    Lain was through looking at the poster. He
crumpled it and threw it down.
    “Hey!” Ivy said, snatching it up and
carefully unfolding it. “I'm not done looking at that.”
    “This changes nothing,” Lain growled.
    “When this is all over, it might be difficult
to go back to being an assassin if everyone knows what you look
like,” Myranda said.
    “What happens after this is over doesn't
matter,” he replied.
    “This must be an old picture of you, Myranda.
And you too, Lain. Look at the hair. Myranda's is shorter. And
Lain's is long and tied back,” Ivy noticed. “I've never seen either
of you look like this. Did Lain ever . . . “
    She looked up to see Myranda's eyes locked
resolutely on some indistinct spot on the far wall of the valley.
Despite her best efforts, Myranda could not hide the fact that she
was not so much looking at something as not looking at
Ivy.
    “Is there something wrong Myranda?” Ivy
asked, concerned.
    Deacon placed his hand on her shoulder and
gently turned her aside.
    “Myranda learned something when you went
ahead. Something she wishes she hadn't. She will be fine, but for
now she needs to have some time to think,” Deacon explained. “Is
that alright?”
    “I . . . guess so,” Ivy said, looking to
Myranda briefly before turning back to Deacon. “Are you alright?
Can I talk to you?”
    “Of course,” he replied.
    “Well, these pictures. Demont drew them, I
know it. I saw that paper you had. It was Demont's. He drew me the
same way as this,” she said.
    “Are you sure?” he asked, looking over the
drawings.
    “Can't you tell? Look at how it was shaded.
The light is always here, the shadow always here. And the way these
lines run together. The picture of Myranda, Lain, and me were drawn
by Demont. This one of Ether is different. Why would they do that?
Why would they have Demont only draw three of them?” she asked.
    Deacon looked over the drawings yet again. As
he did it became more and more clear to him. What is more, the
drawing of Ivy was not precisely accurate. It was identical to one
of the design sketches of her. Possibly the very same image copied.
What did that mean for the others? If he recalled correctly, both
Myranda and Lain had had reasonably long imprisonments with the
D'karon, while Ether hadn't. If Demont was the one responsible for
crafting Ivy as she was now, and he