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   Chapter 26 No.26

The Book of Deacon By Joseph R. Lallo Characters: 5364

Updated: 2018-01-19 12:03


Myranda backed away, but the grim spectacle lingered in her mind. She stumbled back from the door, her head spinning and her stomach churning. The sight had physically sickened her, and she could not keep her feet. She settled dizzily to the ground, coughing and gagging.

Somehow she managed to maintain her composure. When she felt well enough again, her eyes turned to the door. The murderer was still out there, she could feel it. The tides had turned again. Her desire to wrench the doors open and taste freedom was swiftly replaced with a repeated prayer that they remain shut, that the monster outside would not come in. She kept her gaze locked on the door for what seemed like an eternity, fearful even to blink.

The light of morning crept across the floor in front of her. Myranda strained her every sense to try to learn what the killer was up to. Only the occasional whinny of horses and the drip of melting snow broke the silence. Slowly, careful to make no sound, she rose to her feet and crept toward the doors, eyes focused intently on the slit of light between. She was only a step or two away when the ribbon of light darkened. She rushed backward, tripping over a piece of wood and hitting the ground hard. There was a blur and a hiss as the fiend's blade split the restraining ropes. The doors swung open, leaving the dark silhouette of the murderer as the light reflecting from the snow fairly blinded Myranda.

Squinting against the sudden brightness, Myranda felt for a piece of wood and brandished it. She'd seen what he could do to trained warriors, but no one would take her l

he provided a means to escape and demanded that she use it. Why? Was this some sort of cruel game?

Myranda urged the horse forward. Despite the dozens of paces already between them, she could feel the place in her back where a knife might slip in at the first hint of hesitation. She pushed the horse as hard as she could to put as much space between herself and the killer as she possible. Minutes passed--she knew not how many--before she reached the fork in the road and decided she felt safe enough to stop.

The horse breathed great, steaming gasps as she gave it its first rest. It was unaccustomed to speed, being used only to pull a sleigh. She looked to the beast's back and frowned. Her pack had never been returned to her. All that she had left was the three silvers that the friendly fox had given her earlier. It was just yesterday, but it seemed ages ago. She looked to the south. No sense going back to the man who had sent the soldiers and murderer after her. She would head to the next town, replace her lost goods, and decide what could be done.

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