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   Chapter 57 No.57

The Book of Deacon By Joseph R. Lallo Characters: 5254

Updated: 2018-01-19 19:02

As she stared at the totality of the information, a solution stared back at her. All of this had a familiar ring to it. A color. . . a texture to the events that she'd become sensitive to. She knew that the assassin had been sent for the sword, and that he likely still held it. That much was not a mystery. The mystery was where he could be found, and it was one of which she'd spent decades frequently in the pursuit of a solution.

She didn't have the time for that. She needed progress quickly. Some sort of step forward. The reports of the escape held clues. The horses were missing. The armor was missing. There had been looting. Not unheard of, save for the destruction of the black carriage. That was an act of vengeance. Only one group sought weapons, armor, and revenge. The Undermine. Trigorah stood and stalked out to her waiting Elites.

"Saddle up, men. We are heading east, " she ordered.


The first rays of the sun stirred the two travelers. They were both near-frozen, spared a complete blanket of snow only by their proximity to a thickly-needled pine tree. Great mounds of the white stuff surrounded the tree and buried the lower third of their bodies. Myranda managed to get her numbed limbs beneath her and roll off of Myn. Even after being healed, Myn had lost too much blood to last the long, cold night alone. She would have surely died if not for the impromptu blanket in the form of the unconscious body of Myranda. The dragon hoisted herself to her feet and released a mighty blast of fire. Instantly, the warm blood surged through her bo

she was a criminal for stopping. Her offense was short-lived, as a sound and a scent drew her attentions to the woods. She was off in a flash. Myranda had managed to take most of the chill from her body by the time Myn came back with what had been a moderately sized wild turkey.

"That is quite a catch! What are you going to do with all of that. . . oh. . . oh my. . ." she said, turning away from the gruesome answer to her question.

The powerful jaws of the dragon, who just minutes before had been as gentle and loving as a kitten, now made short work of the prey, tearing great pieces of meat away and eating them in greedy gulps without chewing. A few more swallows and the bird, bones and all, had all but disappeared. It was this seldom-seen side of her friend that disturbed her. She often forgot that the dragon was a wild animal. When the snapping and crunching had ended, Myranda ventured a peek at the very satisfied creature. The dragon licked the stray drips of blood from her maw with a few deft swipes with her long tongue.

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