by Joseph Lallo
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Myranda was awakened by Myn, rather than the other way 'round, several hours later than she was accustomed to rising. Deacon hunted her down during breakfast and provided her with the flute and music that Ayna had called for. It was a simple reed flute, and the tune seemed easy enough. After spending a bit of time practicing, she felt sure she would be able to master it before long.
Myn was still eager to make her practice flights, and seemed to feel that without a teacher to steal away her valuable time, Myranda would be free to act as a landing pad for the whole of the day. The girl tried to enlist Deacon in distracting the dragon so that she could spend some time at work on her wind magic with little success. He brought a few fresh fish and the rarest of rare, a piece of red meat that he would not relinquish the origin of. The dragon snubbed them, choosing to eat them only when Myranda offered them. None were enticing enough to eat out of his hands.
A compromise was struck when Myranda aided the dragon in practicing her soaring by providing a constant breeze to fill her wings. Without a tyrannical teacher pushing her to her limit, the girl was able to cut her training off while she still had the clarity of mind to give Lain a real challenge. She found that predicting his attacks early enough to deflect them required nearly the presence of mind that magic did.
The next few days passed in much the same way, and were the most pleasant in recent memory. She found that her skill with wind was growing at about the same speed as Myn's flight prowess. At the end of the first week, the dragon could stay aloft for over an hour, and Myranda felt only the slightest strain in helping her do so. Deacon had not yet found the item that would win Myn over, and was running out of ideas.
The least improvement came in her time with Lain. Over the course of her time with him, she had managed to earn only a single question, a question so hard-won, she could not bring herself to ask it. With only two questions, she would only be able to whet her thirst for knowledge.
While Myranda was having trouble convincing Myn to allow her to practice her flute-playing one day, Deacon arrived with a dusty bag.
"What have you got there?" Myranda asked.
"I have tried everything at my disposal that a dragon might like and Myn still ignores or attacks me. Things have become somewhat desperate. Thus, I've ventured into the garden and selected one of each vegetable. Not much to appeal to a carnivore, but it is my last chance," he said.
While Myn was reluctant to treat Deacon with anything less than suspicion, she did get a bit curious each day when he brought around the latest round of gifts to reject. One by one, he offered carrots and celery and onions. Not surprisingly, the dragon sniffed once or twice and swatted them away. However, when Deacon pulled a large potato from the bag, she sniffed with a bit more interest, and finally took it from his hand, eating eagerly.
"Potatoes?" the pair said confusedly.
When the beast looked up and rooted around in the bag for another, he knew he had found his way into her heart.
"Very well, then, only I give her potatoes. She already likes you, I'm the one that needs help," he said to Myranda before turning to address the creature directly. "And as for you. For every day you don't hit me, I'll give you one of those. Agreed?"
Myn seemed to be in reluctant agreement as she licked her lips a few times and sniffed and licked at his hands in a far gentler way than he was accustomed to. The pleasant moment was cut short by a voice that they had been mercifully free from for the past two weeks.
"How lovely, the animals are getting along," Ayna said.
"Well, what brings you this far from your safe haven?" Deacon asked.
"I have been hearing the elegy wafting through the air with steadily decreasing inaccuracy. It sounds to me that the time of the final test is near," she said with a smile.
"As I recall, you were eager to postpone that date by no less than a year. Why the sudden change of heart?" Deacon asked.
"I am entitled to test my pupil when I have brought her to the proper level of knowledge," she said.
"Are you certain I am ready?" Myranda said.
"Reasonably. If not now, then in a few days. Certainly before the week is out," she said.
"Oh, I see. She will be ready before four weeks are up. That is the amount of time that she took to complete Solomon's training," Deacon said.
"What a coincidence! Well, the performance of a student speaks well of the teacher, doesn't it? It would be a shame to see that dragon's name alongside hers in the history books without mine above it," Ayna said.
"So you are willing to treat her with the respect she deserves when you have something to gain from it," Deacon said.
"If you wish to view it that way, you may. Oh, and, Myranda, my dear, be well-rested when you come to take the test. I expect to break more than one record with your help," Ayna said, slipping away.
"What do you suppose that means?" Myranda said.
"Well, the air test is largely up to the discretion of the teacher--more so than most, traditionally. It also tends to be the easiest. I have a feeling that Ayna's intention is to end that tendency, thus forcing you into a record-setting performance that she can claim responsibility for. It is her first real Master exam; she can always claim that it was her intention to make the more difficult test the standard for all of her students," Deacon said.
"Wonderful," Myranda said flatly.
"You have certainly been bringing about the most inexplicable events since your arrival. However unpleasant it may be for you, it is at least refreshing for the rest of us," Deacon offered.
"At least there is that," she said, with a heavy sigh.
After a bit more practice to assure that she was prepared to play the tune, at least, Myranda decided that if this test were to have a similar effect on her as the last, she had best put forth a considerable effort to earn a few more questions of Lain. It would be her last opportunity for a number of days.
Deacon hurried off to secure as many potatoes as he could while Myranda and Myn headed to the designated place for training. Upon her arrival, Lain offered his usual pointers and critiques of her previous performance in lieu of greeting.
"You continue to focus entirely on my weapon while defending. You must be aware of the whole of my body. My feet may be the furthest thing from a threat to you, but they tend to be the greatest indicator of where my next attack will fall," he said, tossing her weapon to her.
"I may not be able to meet you for a few days. I will be having my examination in wind magic tomorrow," she said.
"Very well," he said. "Prepare yourself."
Myranda paused. He had begun each of the sessions since they began with that simple phrase. Each day, she disregarded it as a simple warning that battle was about to begin. Perhaps it was the impending test that Ayna had sprung upon her, but when the words reached her ears this time, they seemed to take on a different meaning. After all, Lain had recently revealed himself to be a man of few words. It was unlike him to speak a phrase so frequently for nothing. Perhaps she should prepare herself as she would for one of her mystic sessions. Each day, she found more and more parallels between battle and magic; it stood to reason that this was but another. She took a moment to gather her mind. When she was focused, she opened her eyes and took her stance.
Lain's attack flashed in with its usual speed. She shifted her staff and knocked it away. His weight shifted as his weapon returned. A slight re-angling of the wooden blade betrayed his next target. Myranda quickly placed the staff between herself and the strike. His weapon pulled back with incredible speed. It was this third strike, regardless of its origin, that seemed to be far too swift to react to. In her focused state of mind, though, her thoughts could match the speed of the motion, and even get a step ahead. From his position, there was only one way to offer a reasonable offensive. She pulled herself away from the likely target and thrust her weapon toward it with as much speed as she could muster. The staff collided with the blade.
Slowly the blade wit
hdrew and Lain looked upon her with satisfaction. She had succeeded in blocking adequately only once before, and it was clear even to her that it was more through blind luck than skill. This had been different. She had found her way to the block through careful observation. Without another word, Lain attacked again. She blocked the first two blows and reduced the third to a grazing one at best. By the time the session had ended, she had earned no less than a half-dozen questions, sometimes stringing more than six blocks in a row. These new questions, added to the two she'd saved, would put a few of her curiosities well and truly to rest.
"Eight questions. I shall ask them now," she said, catching her breath.
"As you wish," he said, gathering the practice weapons and heading to his hut to replace them. "But be warned. Your third level of training will begin with our next session. It will be by far the most difficult for you," he said.
"I had imagined as much," she said.
She pondered for a moment over how best to spend the first of her hard-earned questions. One thought pressed its way past all others.
"I have been told that you first came to this place, and spent a number of years here, over seventy years ago. Now I don't know anything about your kind, but were I to venture a guess, I wouldn't place you at a day past thirty. What's more, my grandmother used to tell me tales of the Red Shadow when I was a little girl. As far as I can tell, you have been active for easily one hundred years. How can that be?" she asked.
"I cannot answer that. I truly do not know," he said.
"Well, if you cannot answer the question, allow me to rephrase it," she said. "How long have you been alive? How old are you really?"
"I am not certain of that either. The only age I can offer you is that of the Red Shadow legend. His first victim fell just over one hundred-fifteen years ago. I cannot be sure of the number of years that passed between that day and my birth, and I doubt that there exists anyone that can offer any information to that end," he said.
"You have lived for over a century in prime physical condition, and yet you doubt that there is some higher purpose to your existence," Myranda said in disbelief.
"There are many races of this world that can claim the same," he offered, entering his hut. "And, thanks to the efforts of your kind and others, we cannot be sure that my brethren are not similarly blessed. I have never known a malthrope that came to a natural end."
Myranda silently considered his words before choosing her next question.
"You say that you witnessed my capture by the cloaks. What do you know about them?" she asked.
"They are present in some small way in every town I have visited for as long as I can remember. I was uncertain of their origin or alignment until the day that you were taken. They would appear to be agents of the Alliance Army. They move about at night. It is very difficult to detect them. They have no scent, they make no noise. Be suspicious of any quiet stranger. Particularly at night. Your encounter was the first real action I have ever seen them take. They have benefited from the nearly universal use of gray cloaks even more than I. I suspect that they may be the reason for it," he answered from within.
"The nearmen . . . the cloaks. What else don't I know of this world? What else should I know?" she begged.
Lain exited the hut and looked her in the eye, judging whether it was truly intended as a question. When he was satisfied, he answered.
"You grew up in a world very different from mine. You have spent your life in the cities and on the roads between. I have spent mine in the fields, forests, mountains, and plains. I have seen things that you could scarcely imagine. If you intend for me to list all of them, I haven't the time or patience to do so. However, if it is the nearmen and cloaks that concern you, I can name a few similar oddities to my world that may have spilled into your world, or may soon," he said.
"Please," she said.
"An associate of mine has collectively called the cloaks, the nearmen, and the others I may name, the D'karon. They all share a quality of imitation, in the same vein as the cloaks are suits of demon armor. They are rare, and with any luck they will remain so. They are far more hostile. In our first few meetings, I found myself ill-equipped to defeat them. There is simply nothing to attack. Only cold, empty metal," he said, recalling briefly before continuing.
"Humans and the like are hardly the only creatures imitated. I have seen stony parodies of wolves, worms, and countless others. I believe you may have seen the D'karon version of a dragon. One lay ruined on the ground beside that swordsman," he said.
"Where have these creatures come from?" she asked.
"Where do any races come from? I have lived for some time and these creatures have been lurking in the background since my earliest days. Perhaps they have been present at least as long as your kind, and have been lucky enough to avoid discovery. The only thing that I know for certain is that they are native to the north. I have spent time south of the battlefront on several occasions and found them to be absent," he said.
Myranda considered the information as Lain began stretching his legs. He showed little outward sign of the terrible state he'd been in when she found him, but slight limp still nagged him.
"How many questions have I asked?" she asked.
"Four. Unless you intend this to be the fifth," he answered.
"Of course I don't. Four left. I have strayed too far. You need to tell me more about yourself. I want you to retell the story you told me as Leo. Where you grew up, what your life has been like. Only this time I want the truth," she said.
"I had hoped you wouldn't realize your carelessness until your stockpile of questions had dwindled. Well, then. Of my earliest years, I know only what I have read. If the record-keepers are to be believed, I was found in the forest. My mother had died giving birth to me. The man who found me handed me over to his brother, a slaver. I was sold with a batch of two dozen slaves while I was still an infant, included free of charge. I was beaten, isolated, and ostracized by all who saw me. The only man who offered any semblance of care was a blind man named Ben. He was not so much fond of me as he was indifferent, but being ignored was as good as being pampered in those days. He and I had something in common. We had three stripes," he said.
Myranda gave a questioning stare. Lain rolled up his sleeve, revealing a trio of vicious-looking scars, visible even through the fur on his arm. Below it, a similar scar formed a jagged curve.
"A slave is branded once when purchased, and again when they begin to work. The bottom mark is the symbol of the slaveholder I was sold to. The three lines denote my value. One line indicates the highest value, young men mostly. A second line may be added when a slave is less useful. These are given to most women, aging or weak men, and those with permanent injury. A third is added when a slave is considered worthless. The elderly, the infirm, and undesirables such as myself.
"I was treated to the full three on the day I was deemed capable of working. Life was bad until the owner died and left us all to his son. It became much worse very quickly after that. He made a series of bad decisions that drained the coffers in a matter of years. In response, he sold all of the most valuable slaves and switched to more valuable crops. Lower quality workers coupled with crops that left the land nearly barren after only a few seasons worsened matters. Most of the two stripes were sold as well as a fair amount of the land. I was one of the only able-bodied workers left. We were all doing triple the work as in past years. I personally was doing the work of an ox. I had been lashed to a plow.
"One day Ben died at the whips of the drivers and I . . . lost control. When I regained my senses, I was standing over the new owner's youngest son, scythe in my hand and death all around me. I fled into the woods. Later, I learned he was the only survivor of the staff and family," he said.
Myranda shifted uncomfortably. She had almost managed to put aside the fact that Lain was an assassin, and had even begun to see hints of the warmth that had made her fond of him in the past. Now he sat, telling this tale of his t
orturous youth, followed by his unapologetic account of a murderous rampage. He was a monster, a murderer. She'd known it since her first question. Now she knew of the life that made him so. He went on.
"I found myself free for the first time. I had to find a way to support myself, and if possible, get revenge for the years that had been stolen from me. I had only two skills, it would seem. I could work a farm, and I could take lives. I swore never again to do the former, so I chose the latter. After a few years, I developed the Red Shadow legend, as well as one or two others. My travels brought me here, and I took away the knowledge and skill to continue my task with a good deal more success. Since then, life has been an endless hunt for my next target," he said.
Myranda sat silently. There was a look in Lain's eyes as though he expected this answer to be the last, at least for today. He knew that what she had learned sickened her. Perhaps it was just to avoid proving him right again, but Myranda decided to continue.
"How many questions left?" she asked.
"Three," he said.
"Very well, then. I know you are a killer. What sort of people pay you to do so?" she asked, her voice shaking a bit.
"Rich ones. Not only because they have the funds, but they tend to be the only ones arrogant enough to believe they may choose who lives and dies," he said.
"You'll have to do better than that. I want names," she said.
"Over one hundred years have brought me more employers than I can recall. It is safe to say that nearly every powerful family in the north has been on one side of my blade or the other," he said.
"I am still waiting for names," she said.
"Then you will have to be more specific. Refine your question," he said.
"Fine. But this is still the same question. Have you ever worked for anyone I might have known? Someone in Kenvard?" she asked.
There was a reason she had danced around the question. She feared the answer. Kenvard was the former capital of the nation of the same name. Every influential family in the west had a representative there, and her parents had known all of them. What she knew of them told her they were good people who would never make use of a hired blade. What she knew of the world made her fear otherwise.
