Quest SMASH

by Joseph Lallo

  "Well, not that she isn't a joy to be with, but I cannot say that I have missed her little reminders of when I get too close. I wish that she would learn to speak so that there could be a less painful alternative. She doesn't even give me a warning in her own language," he said. "The only time that she seemed to tolerate me at all was when I helped you after Solomon's test, and she was more than a bit reluctant even then."

  "I keep telling her not to do it. It is as though she thinks it's a game," Myranda apologized.

  "She is young and overprotective," he said dismissively.

  "Why did you ask about her?" Myranda asked.

  "You mean to tell me that you do not hear that?" he said, turning to the door and the peculiar noises on the other side.

  Chapter 26

  Myranda listened closely. Outside there was a commotion. The voices of several excited villagers could be heard, as well as an odd crashing noise. She rushed out of the door. The eyes of the villagers were trained on a rooftop. Myranda looked to it just in time to see Myn finish scampering to the top.

  "Myn! What are you doing!?" she called out.

  The dragon looked excitedly to her and unfurled her wings. She leapt from the roof and flapped wildly, taking a less-than-graceful lurching trip through the air. Despite the rather abortive attempt at flight, the little creature did manage to pick up a remarkable amount of speed. Her aim was impressively accurate as well, as she covered just enough ground to collide with Myranda, knocking them both to the ground.

  "Well, you have certainly been busy," Myranda managed after sitting up and looking the little creature in the eyes.

  Solomon came trotting over to them, growling some throaty message to Myn.

  "That is the furthest she has managed to travel," he explained.

  "When did this start?" Myranda asked, climbing to her feet as Myn sprinted back to the building and clawed her way to the roof.

  "This morning, after watching you and Ayna at work, she came to me, curious. I showed her how to start on the path to flight," Solomon answered helpfully in Northern.

  Myn took to the sky again, flailing through the air and slamming into Myranda. This time the girl was ready and caught the dragon in her arms. The force of the landing still caused her to stumble backward. Myranda realized for the first time how much Myn had grown since the day they first met. The creature was as heavy as a child! She let her down and watched her run to another building, this one even further away.

  "How long is this going to keep up?" Myranda asked Solomon as she braced for a third test flight.

  "She needs to develop the muscles. To do that, she will need to practice. If she remains as enthusiastic as she is now, I cannot foresee her requiring much more than a week to fly for at least a few minutes at a time," he said.

  Myranda caught her friend and released her again.

  "Take a few more steps back. Make her work. It will speed her progress," he said.

  Myranda stepped back. Sure enough, Myn fought harder and made it into her arms. The game continued for some time. Though it was a bit rough, Myranda found it quite enjoyable. The sun had drooped in the sky before Myn couldn't manage the distance from the roof to her friend, a distance that had grown to nearly a hundred paces. The poor little thing was exhausted. Solomon praised both dragon and girl for working together so well before retiring to his hut. Deacon, who had left to continue his scribing after watching for a time, had returned when he found that the sequence of flaps and crashes had ended.

  "I trust you had some fun," he said.

  "Did you see her? She practically made it halfway across the village!" Myranda said excitedly, scratching the weary creature.

  "Perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, but it was impressive nonetheless," he said.

  "She's growing up. I know I should be happy, but inside I'm not," she said.

  "Why?" he asked.

  "I don't want to lose my little dragon. She's enough of a handful at this size. Can you imagine when she is grown?" Myranda said.

  "Yes, well, you've got years before that becomes a problem," he said. "As I understand it, they grow quickly at first, but it slows after the first year. Besides, I think you've got something else to worry about right now."

  "What?" she asked.

  "Look at the sky," he said.

  The sun was nearing the horizon.

  "Lain! I have to get to training!" she said.

  "I'm afraid so," he said.

  Myranda rushed off to her hut, with Myn trudging as quickly as she could to keep up. She retrieved the quarterstaff and hurried to where Lain was waiting.

  "Myn is learning to fly. I lost track of time," Myranda explained as the tired dragon collapsed beside her.

  "I know. It is a difficult spectacle to miss. Never mind the quarterstaff--take this," he said, tossing her a shorter, stouter rod.

  "What is this?" she asked.

  "That is roughly what you will be given when you have finished your wizard training, minus the crystal. It is the weapon that you are most likely to make use of in the future. It is also the second weapon I have decided to teach you," he said.

  "Very well," she said.

  "Today, I will attack, and you will defend," Lain said.

  "You will attack? I have been catching Myn all day. I am not sure I can take many hits," she said.

  Lain took a wooden training sword from the rack behind him. With a swift slash, he brought the weapon to within an inch of the girl's neck before she could react. There it stopped without touching her.

  "If my weapon comes as close as this, you can consider yourself killed," he said.

  "And how do I earn a question?" she asked.

  "If you manage to block three attacks in a row, I will allow you one question," he said.

  After a brief explanation of the differences in the usage of the staff as opposed to the quarterstaff, he instructed her to prepare herself, and they began. Had she more energy, Myn would have viciously objected to the violent display. Instead, she cast a weary eye on the proceedings between dozes.

  Whereas she had been slow to pick up the correct methods of attack, defense came far more naturally to Myranda. Before long, she was blocking his first attack without fail. Unfortunately, this nearly always left her weapon out of place to block the follow-up attack. Lain scolded her as she failed again and again to block his second attack.

  "Your opponent may be able to attack more quickly than you can move, but not more quickly than you can think. Use your mind. Battle is more than about the body. If you cannot position a block in the time between when you identify the intended target and the moment of impact, then you must move sooner. You must know where the foe will attack next! Anticipate!" he demanded.

  By the end of the session, she had only managed to block a second attack a handful of times, and never a third. Magic had forced her to think deeply. It would seem that combat was forcing her to think quickly. The two skills, on the surface, seemed practically opposite. It was clear that if someone were to possess both skills, though, there would be little that such a person could not handle.

  After a few final pieces of advice from Lain, Myranda parted ways and headed for home. Myn was still quite weary and took her usual post atop her when Myranda went to bed.

  #

  Across the Low Lands and across the west, the black carriages rolled. Trigorah watched in cold silence as her Elites carried out their orders. Anyone who met the girl since she found the sword was found, captured, and hauled away. The orders seemed pointless, arbitrary, but they were not the first such commands to bear fruit. It was not her place to question them, only to carry them out. The other generals had managed to keep the Northern Alliance free despite a centuries-long struggle against a foe twice its size and many times its strength. It didn't matter that their methods were . . . unsettling. The only thing that mattered was victory.

  Trigorah repeated it to herself during the long nights without sleep
. These orders were vital steps toward victory. Victory would bring peace. Peace was an end high enough to justify any means. She repeated the words to herself as she looked into the eyes of the innocents being taken away for reasons they didn't understand. She repeated them as she heard the wails of children separated from their parents. She repeated them until the words were without meaning, until the wheels of the black carriages wore deep ruts in the roads of the low lands.

  She repeated them, praying each time that she might finally believe them.

  #

  Myn awoke and looked upon her friend with concern. Myranda was sweating and out of breath. Perhaps through no coincidence, her dreams had been of Trigorah, of that fateful meeting in the forest before they came here. The night when she nearly killed the nearest thing she had to a living relative. In her nightmare she'd seen the face of one of the injured soldiers. It was her father. She knew it couldn't be true, that her mind was playing tricks, but that hardly mattered.

  Thoughts raced through her head. Trigorah had worked with her father, and she was now an Elite. Could her father have been an Elite as well? It would explain why he was away so often . . . and since the Elites were so secret and important an organization he could still be alive today, and she would never know. A brief flash of happiness at the thought vanished when she realized that Trigorah knew her, and if her father was still alive, he most certainly have been informed. He would have come for her if he was still living as a member of the Elites. Unless he was ashamed, or . . . there was no time for such thoughts.

  Myranda gathered her things and headed to Ayna's place while Myn trotted off to be with Solomon. As usual, the fairy was up and about, impatiently waiting for her student to arrive. A smile came to her face as she noticed that Deacon was there, too.

  "Well, well. It would appear that my little pupil has attracted an audience once again," Ayna said.

  "I missed out last time. I just want to see this firsthand. It promises to be quite a spectacle," he said.

  "So is a forest fire," she said with a sneer, "but if you must stay, keep clear. I will not tolerate interruption."

  "I will be a mere shadow," he said.

  "Well then, get to it. Concentrate," Ayna ordered.

  Myranda quickly shut off the world as she had done so many times before. When her mind was prepared, Ayna's voice sounded.

  "Eyes open," she demanded.

  "But--" Myranda began.

  "I said eyes open. And if I have to repeat myself again, you will learn just how unpleasant being my pupil can be," she said.

  Myranda opened her eyes. Set before her was an array of thin poles, each with a wooden ball perched on its end.

  "Now, the purpose of this apparatus should be clear to all but the dimmest of individuals. Therefore, let me explain it to you. You will conjure up a wind and direct it at the poles. If it is of sufficient strength, the ball will fall. I will see to it that no natural breezes give you any help," Ayna said. "You may close your eyes, provided you can remember which direction is forward."

  Myranda closed her eyes and tried to push away the anger Ayna had stirred up with her belittling remarks. The wind came quickly. It was only a breeze at first, but it grew steadily, and before long, she felt that it must be strong enough. She opened her eyes, managing to maintain the strength of the breeze. Of the ten poles, four had already lost their cargo, and a fifth came quickly after that.

  As time went on. the strain of keeping the wind at speed became nearly unbearable, but one by one the other poles shed their contents. Finally only one remained, but try as she might she could not shake the ball free.

  "Oh, come now. Just one more," Ayna said, a thin veneer of encouragement poorly masking her smug satisfaction.

  Myranda redoubled her efforts, but the ball would not budge. Had she less of a task occupying her mind, she might have noticed Deacon shaking his head in disgust and casting a glare at Ayna, but all of this was filtered out in her attempts to focus her mind more powerfully. Her trainer wore a grin that widened with each unsuccessful gust. The fury within her grew and eroded her concentration. The gales began to waver, and finally she let the trance lapse entirely.

  "Well, well. Our prodigy is not all-powerful after all. You have your rest, and perhaps tomorrow you can take another baby step," Ayna gloated.

  "No!" Myranda proclaimed, raising her staff and trying to conjure another breeze.

  "Listen to me, little girl. You have failed. Leave now before I have you removed," Ayna warned.

  Myranda ignored the fairy's protests and brought about a weak breeze. She tried to strengthen it, but the anger filling her mind left no room for concentration. Ayna flitted directly in front of her disobedient pupil and continued to threaten, but Myranda heard none of it. Her fury grew and grew, like a river straining against a dam. This awful creature that took such joy in her failure would be taught a lesson. Her hands began to shake.

  Finally the dam broke and the anger flooded her mind. A powerful burst of wind erupted, seemingly from nowhere, shaking her from her focused state of mind. The profound dizziness struck with equal speed. She had dropped her staff when the wind had startled her and had nothing to steady herself. Deacon was beside her in time to keep her on her feet.

  "Are you all right? You shouldn't have done that. You really shouldn't have," he said.

  "I did that?" Myranda said with disbelief.

  Her eyes finally came into focus to see what looked to be the site of a disaster. All of the poles were shaking violently. Those nearest to the one she had been focusing on were snapped off at the base and were only just now falling to the ground yards away. The one she had targeted was missing entirely, along with a generous portion of the earth it had been anchored in. Some distance away it could be found, embedded in Ayna's tree. Ayna herself was fluttering, stunned, in front of a slight impression in the same tree where she had collided with it. She was plastered with the dirt kicked up by the wind and slowly turning to the tree to survey the damage.

  "You had better move. Quickly," Deacon whispered to her as he led her away.

  The fairy lifted a hand without turning. A fierce wind rushed up around Myranda, forcing Deacon away and lifting her from the ground. When she had flitted to the ground beside the flailing girl, she snapped her fingers. The wind cut off, and Myranda fell forcefully to the ground.

  "That is all. You are through! I do not want to see you again for a year," she said.

  "Now, Ayna, you cannot do that," Deacon said, trying to reason with her.

  "You know the rules as well as I. That girl used a spell fueled by anger. Such an offense is punishable by whatever means I see fit. You should be glad I do not choose to kill her," Ayna said.

  "But the rules also call for leniency for a first offense," Deacon countered.

  "Leniency! I do not care if that thing has never made a single misstep in her life! She allowed the darker emotions to empower a spell, and did so while she was disobeying me, using said spell specifically to assault me!" Ayna raged.

  "I did not--" Myranda attempted, but the fairy made a fist and she felt the air withdraw from her lungs.

  "You prompted it. She was not assaulting you, she was attempting to pass a test that you had sabotaged," he said.

  "How dare you accuse me of sabotaging the test!" Ayna said, aghast.

  "The pole is sticking out of the side of your tree and the ball is still attached," he said.

  "I didn't deny sabotaging the test, but you have no right to accuse me of it," she said.

  Myranda's vision was fading as what little air she had left was giving out. As her thrashing slowed, Ayna took notice and opened her fist. The fresh air rushed back into her lungs and brought her back around. When she had caught her breath enough to climb to her feet, she did so.

  "What have I done to you to deserve--" Myranda attempted again, only to receive the same treatment.

  "For someone renowned for her skill in learnin
g, you certainly are slow to learn when to keep your mouth shut," Ayna said as the girl fell helplessly to the ground.

  "You are the one at fault as much as her, because you know better," Deacon said.

  "Fine. Get the flute and the . . . elegy, I suppose. But I am through with her until she is ready for her exam. She is your student now. See that she drills every day," Ayna said, flitting off to her tree and releasing her grip.

  Deacon helped Myranda to her feet again and the two made their way to the meal hut. As they ate, and Myranda's mind cleared, they spoke.

  "What just happened?" she asked.

  "Ayna coaxed you into breaking one of our cardinal rules," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "It was probably her plan from the start. Once she found out just how fast you were learning, her concern likely drifted to maintaining her own grip on the record for air mastery."

  "What rule did I break?" she asked.

  "You allowed anger to affect your casting of a spell," he said.

  "Is that why it was so powerful? I don't understand. Why did it happen, and if I released so much energy so quickly, why am I not exhausted?" she asked.

  "Well, magic is an expression of the soul's power. High emotion stirs the soul and boosts the power. Anger in particular has a way of amplifying the effect of any forceful spell beyond the point of controllability. That fact, coupled with the fact that one grows reliant on such methods if used too often, makes it one of the worst offenses one can commit while training. Long term uses can twist the soul far more than dishonesty and treachery," he said. "As for the reason that you are not exhausted? It will catch up with you, probably while you are asleep. Too much energy too quickly sometimes takes a few hours to take a toll, particularly on a first-time user. More experienced users feel it sooner."

  "Why?" she asked.

  "Magic still holds a few mysteries, even from us," he said.

  "Wait. I saw all of the Masters literally destroy the Elder's hut. Weren't they breaking this rule?"

  "They were angry while casting the spell. The anger was not affecting the strength of the spell. If it was, there wouldn't be much of a village left," he said.