The Chronicles of the Myrkron: Book 01 - The Nine Keys of Magic

by Timothy Woods

  "Enjoy, and welcome to Kantwell, Michael. If you want more, all you have to do is ask."

  "Thanks." Turning, he followed Martin to the table where the other apprentices were seated.

  "She’s a nice lady."

  "Aye, she is truly like a second mother. She cares for us as if we were her own. I fell very ill a few months after I came to Kantwell. Mother Tess stayed with me for two whole days until my fever broke. For two days after that, she brought food up to my room. She and Jenny always take care of us when we are sick. All of the serving staff here are like family."

  They made it to the table, and a young boy, who could not have been more than twelve, looked up with wide eyes as Michael spoke to him.

  "Mind if I sit here? Miles, isn’t it?" Michael remembered him because he was the smallest one introduced last night. He was probably just over four feet tall with blonde hair and large brown eyes that looked as if they might pop out of his head at any moment.

  "Yes, I mean, no. I mean, yes my name is Miles, and no, I do not mind if you sit here," the boy blurted out, flustered, scooting down the bench to make room for Michael and Martin.

  "Easy, lad," Martin chuckled.

  Michael smiled at the boy to try to put him at ease. Miles was obviously in awe of him. He set his tray down on the table and offered Miles his hand.

  "I’m Michael."

  All Miles could do was stare at the hand offered.

  "No reason to be scared, Miles. I put my pants on the same way you do, one leg at a time," Michael assured him.

  Miles flashed a quick grin and tentatively took Michael’s hand. Michael looked up at the rest of them and noticed they were all smiling at the young boy. An older boy, perhaps about sixteen, with black hair and green eyes, nodded to him in approval. Michael took his seat between Martin and Miles. He felt a bit uncomfortable with all of them staring at him.

  Michael cleared his throat.

  "Ok, you all know me, but I’m afraid I haven’t been able to put all the faces and names together yet. How about we go through the introductions again?"

  Martin set his fork down.

  "That’s a good idea. Melora, why don’t you start?"

  Michael looked over at the girl Martin was addressing. She was very young with blonde hair that reached a few inches passed her shoulders, and blue eyes. She smiled slightly as if she were uncomfortable with the attention as well.

  "I am Melora, Magician of the Second Key," she told him.

  "How old are you, Melora?" Michael asked not sure if she would tell him.

  "Fourteen," she replied without hesitation.

  "How long have you been at Kantwell?"

  "Three years."

  Michael inclined his head.

  "Hello, Melora."

  The girl next to her was a bit older with long, straight blue-black hair and a dark complexion. Her eyes were a liquid brown and slightly almond shaped. She saw Michael look at her and spoke.

  "I am Mia, Magician of the Third Key. I just turned nineteen and have been here for almost six years."

  "Hello, Mia."

  Next to her was the man with black hair who had nodded at him when he shook Miles' hand.

  "I am Morgan, Magician of the Third Key as well. I am seventeen and have been at Kantwell for four years now."

  Michael nodded to him.

  "Morgan."

  To Morgan’s left was another girl. She had blue eyes and brown hair chopped off straight at her shoulders. She looked up at Michael with confidence.

  "I am Marie, Magician of the Third Key. I am fifteen, and I came here at the same time Morgan did."

  "Nice to meet you, Marie." Michael looked down the table, passed Miles, to a man about Martin’s age. He had short brown hair and brown eyes.

  "My name is Mark, Magician of the Third Key. I am twenty years of age and have also been at Kantwell for four years."

  "Hello, Mark," Michael said. He turned his eyes to Miles.

  "Since I already know your name, how about filling me in on the rest?"

  "Miles, Magician of the First Key. I’m eleven years old and have been here for about six months," the boy told him, trying to mimic the maturity of the other two men at the table.

  "Thank you, Miles."

  "You’re welcome. How old are you, Michael?" Miles asked with a serious maim.

  "Well, I am twenty six."

  "Wow! You are really old," Miles exclaimed.

  "Miles, that is not very nice," Mia chided him.

  Michael laughed heartily.

  "That’s quite all right, Mia. To Miles, I guess I would seem really old. I suppose, to most of you here, with the possible exceptions of Martin and Mark, I might seem really old. Where I come from, we don’t know a whole lot about magic, so the training that I should have begun at Miles’ age is just now starting for me. I’m sure even Miles here knows more about magic than I do. In this case, I guess I am really younger than any of you." Michael stabbed a piece of apple with his fork and crunched it. Its flavor was surprisingly sweet. He realized then how hungry he actually was. He proceeded to devour the entire contents of the bowl. As Michael finished the last piece of fruit and was reaching for the bread, he looked up to see everyone staring at him. He looked around, suddenly self-conscious.

  "What? Did I do something wrong?"

  "No. It’s just that we haven’t seen anyone attack fruit in quite that manner before," Martin replied.

  "Oh, sorry about that. I haven’t eaten since…Saturday afternoon. With everything that has happened recently, I guess I forgot to stop to eat."

  "Wow! You forgot to eat for two whole days?" Miles piped.

  "I guess so. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I took that first bite."

  Martin took Michael’s empty bowl and went back to the window. He returned with it refilled with fruit and another plate of bread.

  "Here Michael, eat. If it has been that long since your last meal, you will need it."

  "Thanks." Michael tore into the bread, realizing that he must have been very hungry because everything tasted so good. He could not remember ever having tasted bread quite as flavorful as this. The rest of the students resumed eating, giving him time to get a handle on his hunger. Michael had just pushed his bowl away when he heard a woman’s voice behind him.

  "I see they have finally let you eat," she said.

  Michael turned his head and saw Mieka standing inside the arch where he and Martin had entered. Michael felt his heart hammer against his chest. He consciously took a deep breath, trying to will his heartbeat to return to normal.

  "Aye, we were just getting acquainted. I have a terrible time remembering names, so we went through the introductions again, solely for my benefit."

  "It is good to see you integrating so well, so soon," Mieka told him, and then she hit him with that smile again.

  "Come along, all of you. It is time to begin today's lessons."

  Michael picked up his tray and followed the rest of the students over to the opening in the wall. They all passed their empty bowls, plates, and cutlery through to Tess and replaced their trays on the stack. One by one they filed passed Mieka and headed towards the classroom. As Michael approached her, Mieka stepped in front of him, blocking his path. He looked her in the eyes. Again, he was startled by how dark her eyes were, so different from Karen’s blue ones.

  "You are to report to Merric this morning. I think he wants to talk to you before you begin your studies," Mieka told him.

  "How do I find him?" Michael asked glad to turn his mind to another subject.

  "I will take you to him. He is in his study. It is located on the fourth floor. I would walk you there so you could familiarize yourself with Kantwell’s layout, but I need to get to class before they start blowing up desks or setting the draperies on fire." She smiled warmly at Michael.

  "So we will teleport there. I guess I get to give you your first lesson after all."

  Michael averted his eyes so he would not have to see he
r smiling.

  "Micah taught me how to teleport already."

  "Excellent. How about I give you a mental picture of the hall right outside Merric’s study, and you impress me with your skill."

  "I wouldn’t call anything about my skill, or lack thereof, impressive," Michael said with his eyes downcast.

  "Nonsense. Teleporting takes more than mere words and a visual locale to accomplish. If you have already learned to do it, then you have a degree of skill that none of the other students possess as of yet. Granted, none of them have opened the fifth door, but once they do, it will still take time before they can learn to teleport."

  "Really? That is all I have done in the past; visualize where I want to go, and then say the words. It has worked all three times I have done it. The first time, I almost got sick though. It felt like my stomach had been turned upside down," Michael confided to her.

  Mieka laughed lightly. The laugh caused Michael to think of tiny silver chimes. He shook his head trying to bring clarity back to his scattered thoughts.

  "Well, then I will definitely be impressed. Here let me give you the visual location." Mieka raised her right hand and placed it over Michael’s eyes. Her hand was soft and felt almost hot. Michael tried to clear his mind, but her eyes kept appearing before him, and her laugh played over and over. Mieka's close proximity didn’t help matters much either. He began to sweat. He heard her mumble something, and he saw in his mind a large wooden door at the end of a corridor. The door was stained a rich dark color and looked smooth, almost polished. The iron bindings on it were black as were the hinges. The doorknob was fashioned from either glass or crystal of some kind. There was a plain brass plaque on the door that said simply, Headmaster.

  "Have you got the visual now?" Mieka asked, removing her hand.

  "Aye." Michael opened his eyes.

  "Since you have the visual, I need not accompany you. Go ahead and teleport yourself there, and I can get on to class."

  "Ok, thank you," Michael said, relieved that she would not be going with him.

  "I guess I will see you in class later?"

  "Not today, but tomorrow certainly. I am sure you and Merric will have much to discuss, and I expect he will want to be the one to start your training."

  "Ok, here goes."

  Mieka smiled at him again.

  "Good luck, Michael."

  Michael closed his eyes and visualized the door and corridor again. He fixed it in his mind and whispered the words of transport. Instantly, he was gone.

  Mieka’s eyes twinkled as she regarded the spot Michael had just vacated. The boy is good. Although, he is not really a boy now, is he? She thought to herself. Mieka could sense Michael’s attraction to her, and she could also sense that he was uncomfortable because of that attraction. She smiled that impish smile of hers. This is going to be almost as much fun as teleporting around Martin. She turned and walked down the hall to the classroom.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Dain held the prone dwarf’s right arm steady with his right hand while his left was covering the gaping wound in the shoulder which continued to pump bright, red blood up between his fingers. The sounds of combat were everywhere about him. He could hear Bran roaring orders directly behind him. Kale’s face was ashen from the pain of his wounds, and he had lost a lot of blood. Dain closed his eyes and clenched his teeth against the pain that was coming through his link with Kale. He gave himself over to the pain. It helped block out all the other distractions of the battle raging around him. Dain knew he had to act fast or he would lose Kale.

  "Breathe easy, Kale. You won’t have to tolerate the pain much longer," Dain assured him. He opened himself fully and let the power flow. He felt a tingling sensation running from the center of his being, down his arms, and into his hands. Kale’s breathing eased as the blood flow decreased and then stopped flowing altogether. Bone and flesh knit beneath Dain’s hand. The arm had been nearly severed at the shoulder, but now there was only a thin pink line running up and over the area. The line would fade soon, and Kale would have only the memory of the pain as reminder of what could have been a mortal injury. As Kale’s pain lessened, so too did Dain’s.

  "You should be able to move now," Dain told him, letting go of the arm.

  Kale’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked up into Dain’s young face. The boy looked exhausted. His eyes were glassy and had dark rings under them. Kale sat up and clasped him on the shoulder. He could only stare at Dain in wonder.

  "I thought I was done for sure, lad."

  "If I had let that happen, Axethane Bran would have had both our hides," Dain said, rising unsteadily to his feet.

  Kale smiled at the boy.

  "You are probably right." Kale grabbed his axe and stood quickly. His smile vanished in a snarl as he threw Dain behind him. Dain yelped and tumbled across the ground coming back to his feet as he rolled. He saw Kale’s axe block a large sword that would have cut him in two if Kale had not thrown him clear. Kale was staggered by the blow, but then a red spray erupted around him, and the ogre fell to the side grasping his leg. As he hit the ground, Dain could see Bran leap up on the ogre’s chest to bury his axe in its forehead. Yanking his axe free, Bran jumped down and melted back into the battle. Kale followed him.

  Dain looked around to see if there were any more injured warriors he could help. It seemed he had been at his task for hours, but he knew it had not really been that long. Looking up at the sun, he was surprised to see its position in the sky had hardly changed. He heard a dwarf call out to his left and staggered in that direction.

  A brown headed dwarf named Pace was lying, propped against the canyon wall, both hands clasped to his stomach and right side. His breathing was labored, and he was sitting in an expanding pool of blood. Dain fell to his knees beside him, and placed his hands over Pace’s. He nearly cried out from the intensity of the pain he felt coming through the new link. Dain’s shoulders slumped, and he could not hold back the tears that began to flow down his blood smudged cheeks.

  "Lad, I am lost. Go help another," Pace said.

  "I’ll not leave you, Pace. Be still and let me try to fix this," Dain whispered, trying to regain control. He again opened himself to the pain and felt the now too familiar tingling of the healing process as its energy flowed through him. A short time later, Dain opened his eyes to see Pace smiling slightly, with his eyes closed and his breathing no longer labored.

  "Thank you, lad. I don’t know how you do it, but I thank the Great One for your birth. I am fine now," Pace assured him.

  Dain tried to get to his feet again, but could not. He was too tired. He did not have the stamina of a trained healer. He had only helped perhaps ten wounded so far, and he no longer had the strength to stand. Seeing him try to rise and fail, Pace got to his feet, slung his axe across his back, and picked Dain up like a child.

  "You just save your strength for the healing, lad. I will get you where you need to be."

  Dain was as limp as a wet cloth in Pace’s arms, but he heard another cry off to his right and pointed with a wane gesture in that direction. Pace ran over to the injured dwarf. He was out of breath when he gently set Dain down beside his next patient. Dain tried to focus on the man before him, but images of the wounds he had already treated kept swimming in front of his leaden eyes. He set his right hand on the dwarf’s head and once again opened up to the pain. He was jolted back into focus by the force of it. Both of this dwarf’s legs were shattered above the knees. He sucked in a breath and cried out. Pace grasped Dain by the shoulders and held him up so he would not collapse across the injured dwarf. Dain looked at the dwarf’s face. He was older, with gray hair and beard. His face was twisted with pain, but he uttered not a sound.

  "Captain Kallen! Can you hear me?" Dain shouted as the shock of recognition hit him. His strength returned in a surge of adrenaline. The old dwarf was not unconscious, but he was in so much pain that he could not talk. Dain immediately put his hands lightly on both of Captain Kalle
n's thighs and started channeling the healing energy into him.

  "Pace, I need your help here."

  "Anything you need, lad," Pace replied.

  "Grab his feet; both of them. When I tell you to, I want you to pull them straight. Do it quickly, and do not let up until I say."

  Pace grabbed the old dwarf’s ankles gently, but firmly, and nodded his readiness to Dain.

  "Now!" Dain shouted. Captain Kallen’s body went rigid, and Dain almost passed out from the transferred pain. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to pour forth the healing magic as quickly as he could. In his mind’s eye, he saw the shattered bones rearrange themselves into their proper places. The pain was almost more than he could bear.

  "I have to hold on. Please Great One, give me strength," he pleaded, weeping openly. The bones began to knit and fuse. Dain was visibly shaking. He felt the last fracture mend.

  "That will do, I…" He never finished his sentence because, at that moment, he passed out, falling across Captain Kallen.

  Pace moved quickly to him, raised him up, and then hoisted him into his arms once again. The sounds of battle had diminished and only a few ogres remained. Axethane Bran was successfully pressing them back with about twenty dwarves at his back. Pace looked around. There were ogre corpses everywhere, as well as a few dwarven ones, but the dwarven dead were few, thanks to Dain’s intervention. Captain Kallen climbed miraculously to his feet, and laid a gnarled hand on Dain’s head brushing his black hair back from his face.

  "That lad is worth a hundred of us. See to him, Pace. I want him to rest, and make sure he eats something. He gave us everything he had out here today."

  "Aye, Captain. He saved my life as well. I will take care of him," Pace assured him.

  "He saved a lot of lives."

  Captain Kallen watched Pace walk along the pass heading inside the gates with his charge held gently in his arms. The Captain turned and picked up his axe. The battle was pretty much over, but he might still get in a few good swings. He ran forward, marveling as he did so. His broken legs were not only whole, but his knees did not even ache like usual. The lad could truly work miracles.