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

had taken the time to sketch
the others, could that mean that . . .
    His thoughts were interrupted by both Ivy and
Lain suddenly shifting their attentions to the mouth of the pass.
They didn't seem concerned, merely interested. Moments later the
stout gray form of a large wolf stalked into view, a pair of gray
bags slung around its neck. As it approached them its form slowly
changed, until by the time it reached them it was Ether that stood
before them, the bags over her shoulders, and a gray fur cloak on
her back.
    “What did you get?” Ivy asked as she greedily
pulled one of the filled-to-bursting bags from her shoulder.
    “As though it would make any difference to
you. You would swallow anything I put before you,” she replied,
lowering the other bag to the ground.
    “Fruit . . . and vegetables . . . fresh!” Ivy
said, pulling out various fine samples as proof.
    “And this bag is filled with cured meats? How
did you manage all of this?” Deacon asked.
    “Unencumbered by mortals, I can travel quite
far in a very short time,” she replied.
    “The ones in the middle are still warm from
the sun!” Ivy said as she pulled a large and decidedly tropical
looking fruit from the bag.
    “Um . . . unless I've missed my guess, those
do not grow anywhere near any of the Northern Alliance
kingdoms,” Deacon said.
    “Show off,” Ivy said. “You didn't run these
all the way from wherever they grew as a wolf, did you? I was
right, you did fly through the air with these.”
    “I was not seen,” she replied.
    “No, but I bet the fruit was,” Ivy said.
    Deacon snickered.
    “What is it, human? Do you intend to mock me
for my superiority as well?” she sneered.
    “No . . . It is just that . . . I imagined
the poor fellow who saw you in transit and is trying to convince
his friend that he saw a migratory coconut,” he struggled to say
without laughing as he held up the fruit in question.
    “Laugh all you wish. The simple fact of the
matter is that not even Lain could have provided the provisions I
have in the time I have,” she said.
    “It is time,” Lain said, ignoring the
squabble.
    The group set off, taking their nourishment
as they went. Myranda eagerly partook of the fruits and vegetables.
Ivy and Lain didn't seem to mind subsisting on meat alone, but in
the days that she'd been relying upon the game he was able to
capture, Myranda had begun to feel an all too familiar sense of
weakness. Neither human had ever tasted the fruits offered before,
and Ivy was eager to give them a try as well. All told the bag of
meat was untouched, while the well stocked bag of produce was
reduced by half.
    By the time the meal was complete, the
travelers had reached the point where the road entered the
mountain. It was immediately clear as the walls of the tunnel rose
up around them that this was not the work of Myranda's fellow
Northerners. The sole purpose of this tunnel, it would seem, was to
remain straight and level. Not a turn or dip was made, despite the
fact that the stone of the walls was of such strength that not a
beam or timber was needed to keep the mountain from falling in on
them. As for size, it was quite small. Wide enough, perhaps, for
three horses to ride side by side, and perhaps tall enough to allow
a coach through. The ruts that had worn their way into the road
could clearly be seen here as well, each nearly touching the wall
on either side. It was as though the tunnel had been designed
around whatever carriage it was that was so frequently taking this
route.
    Scarcely a dozen paces into the tunnel,
darkness prevailed. Myranda summoned a light from her crystal, as
did Deacon. The walls were smooth. There were no torches, nor were
there even holders to place them. This path was created with no
intention of ever being lit. Total blackness around her combined
with the echoing footsteps gave Myranda unwelcome recollections of
her trip to Entwell. Now, as then, she was not sure what she would
find when her journey