Deacon Rex would complain about his circumstances, but at least he was alone. Casta Mett and the others could tear each other to pieces for all he cared, so long as they left him out of it. Already he'd planted carefully crafted doubts in the king's mind with regard to each of his esteemed colleagues. Casta Mett was hiding things and was fool enough to think no one would notice. He didn't have to be able to sense magic to know when someone was hiding something. It was a skill he'd relied on his entire life. Argus Kind had unlocked what magic Deacon Rex possessed, and he would be forever grateful.
He had been successful in the past, but nothing to match being Al'Zjhon. The ability to access magic coupled with an ample supply of something normally so rare, Deacon Rex was a formidable man. The skills developed by thieves and assassins largely overlapped, and those same skills applied to treasure hunting. Deacon Rex had never been one to specialize. Look at how well that was working out for Casta Mett.
Moving through the jungle was not something at which he was practiced or skilled, however. At least for the moment he could simply row his way toward the west, following narrow channels meandering through lush, green swamp.
Knowing what created the channels made Deacon nervous. If he went into the water with a swamp pig, he wasn't likely to come back out. The huge creatures appeared lazy and slow when wallowing in mud but were far faster than they appeared. Thus far, Deacon had not seen a single one. The evidence didn't lie. They had been here.
Worse was yet to come. He'd flown over the swamp and was aware of what he was doing. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for a fool. He'd chosen the most difficult mission of all just to get away from a woman. Perhaps she had won after all.
A deep squealing erupted from the water ahead. Deacon Rex watched the swamp pig emerge from the depths right in front of him. Using his oar to slow his lightweight canoe, he prayed he would see the back end of a swamp pig and not the front. The creatures were known to charge anything that challenged them. His luck held but would be tested again soon. Already foulness filled the air. Even if the vegetation here had not yet succumbed to the creeping wrongness dominating the swamp, it would soon. It was inevitable.
It took a brave fool to seek magic within the swamp, but he would not be alone. The people of the Heights and Midlands knew they were doomed. Why not risk a few lives to see what twisted magic rules the swamp? Deacon hoped to get there first. It was unlikely he'd be able to retrieve an object powerful enough to corrupt a third of a continent, but if he found something, he would return with larger numbers.
Within the rotting swamp, Deacon was drawn ever on. The place called to him in a way no other magic ever had. Argus Kind had unlocked his magic by allowing him to touch an object of immense power, Azzakkan's Eye, but never had Deacon sensed power over a distance. This place reeked of twisted, corrupted magic that seeped into his bones until he thought the stench might never come out. Deeper he went, driven now by the need to see the power calling him. His innate ability to squeeze through tight places served him well.
Days and nights passed, but he could not say how many. The swamp had become a part of him, and he, a part of the swamp. It leached into him and might never let him leave. Only the magic he carried kept him from falling into the abyss. While the quagmire tugged at his sanity, he rubbed his thumbs over pure, unadulterated power—a gift from Argus Kind. Most of the time, he kept it hidden; it drew the shadows.
After what felt like weeks traveling on foot, Deacon Rex found himself staring into a dark green meadow, sharp-tipped saw grass promising a toll of blood. Beyond, though, waited a low but sprawling outcropping of black crystal. It looked like one giant crystal with just the very tip showing. It was not just something he surmised. Power reached deep into the land. It pulled on him so strongly, he worried his eyes might be sucked from his head. Whispers of madness spoke of twisted sentience. Tearing himself away, he realized this was far beyond anything he'd ever imagined. Above the stone, wild dragons flew in lazy circles. No wonder no one else had harnessed this magic. One might as well lasso the sun. Now he understood why no domestic dragon would dare come anywhere near.
Deacon Rex was going to need a better plan—a much better plan.
Leaving proved far more difficult than getting in. He'd been drawn by magic, almost as if in a trance. Moving away from that same magic, every step was a struggle. The swamp turned on him—not that it had ever been friendly. Now, though, safe, dry passage was twice as difficult to find. Having been graced with a colorful vocabulary, he honed his cursing skills. Deep into a particularly salty tirade, he suddenly froze, uttering not a single additional word. Before him, golden eyes with pupils like oblong slits watched through the vines and focused on him.
Reaching for his bag, Deacon Rex hoped Argus Kind's gift would be enough.