"Did you write all of these?" Myranda asked.
"Well, I wouldn't say that I was the author, but I put ink to my former teacher's ideas," he said.
"And they are all on the same subject?" she wondered.
"Well, different shades, but all gray," he answered.
"Then why are the titles in different languages?" she asked, as she leafed through a book to discover a language that she absolutely could not identify.
"Oh, that. Well, as you have no doubt noticed, very few people here speak the same language. One of the policies of our founder requires each resident of Entwell to learn to understand each and every other language. In this way, everyone may speak whatever language that he or she is most comfortable with without fear of being misunderstood. I, for one, was fascinated with the different tongues. Language became something of a hobby for me, and I am Entwell's unofficial expert on it. To stay sharp, I alternate which language I use with each book," he said.
"But I speak Northern and Tresson. I was unaware that there were different languages to be had," she said.
"Perhaps not now, but our village has existed for six hundred years. Until the war started, there were eleven languages in common use on this continent alone. The language known as Northern was originally called Varden. It was spoken in Kenvard and Ulvard, though the Ulvardians spoke a different dialect. Vulcrest spoke a language called Crich. The eight kingdoms that make up the Tressor region spoke nine different languages prior to joining together.
"Then there are the small continents to the east and their languages. And, of course, the dead languages. There are a handful of non-spoken languages, as well. Finally, there are the beast languages. All told, there are no less than thirty, and I know them all," he said.
"You should be proud," she said.
"I am," he said.
Myranda was mystified by the number of books as she looked around. Wolloff had had his share, to be sure, but these were all hand-written by Deacon himself. The amount of work it must have taken was mind boggling.
"I have only been to two libraries. One was in a monastery to the west of my former hometown. The other was just recently in the tower of a wizard called Wolloff. This puts Wolloff's collection to shame, and rivals the monastery," she said.
"It is not a contest. This is merely how I have chosen to fill my days," he said. "Now as for--"
There was a knock at the still-open doorway that interrupted him. It was one of the many men that Myranda had seen milling about in the village as they were walking earlier. He delivered some sort of handwritten message to Deacon, who thanked him in what must have been his native language. After reading the note, he folded it and placed it in his pocket.
"Well, the time has come. The Elder wants to see the newcomers now. Let us not keep her waiting," he said.
Chapter 21
"We will have to awaken Myn and bring Leo," Deacon explained, leading Myranda out the door. "The Elder will need to see them as well."
"Who is the Elder? Why do we have to see her?" Myranda asked.
Deacon answered as they walked.
"The Elder is the most learned member of our ranks. She represents the very wisest and balanced of the Masters, and is one of only two Archmages. She is essentially our leader, making sure that all relevant decisions are well-made. She will determine what skills you and your friends have, and what training will suit you best. In fact, despite the fact that Solomon and Ayna both chose you to be their student, the Elder must be the one to allow it. If she thinks poorly of the choice, then you will have to work your way through the ranks like everyone else," he said.
The two reached Myranda's hut, where Myn was still sleeping. Deacon focused a brief flash of concentration on her and she was immediately awake. She thanked Deacon by pouncing on him once again for being too close to Myranda. With the dragon keeping the pair carefully separated, Deacon and Myranda sought out the healer's hut, where Leo was just testing out his freshly repaired legs. Myn scampered about him while Myranda gave him a stern look.
Finally, the group entered the large hut at the center of a very large courtyard in the middle of the village. Inside it was solemn as a church. Unlike the crystals that gave light to the other huts, this one was lit entirely with flickering candles. At the back of the room, in a simple wooden chair, was the woman who could only be the Elder that they spoke of. She did not appear very old, but one glimpse of her told of a wisdom that would have taken two lifetimes to gain. She was dressed as simply as the others; only a gold-colored sash draped about her neck made her stand out. Her hair was gray and pulled gracefully back behind her shoulders. She was clearly elfin in nature, with a tall, thin physique and distinctive ears.
The only other occupants of the room were a handful of men and women who were busy at various tasks, mostly involving large leather-bound books.
When the three stood before her, Deacon introduced them in yet another new language. Myranda bowed when she heard her name. Leo stood firm when his was spoken. Myn had locked her gaze on the Elder the moment she had seen her, and refused to look away. The little dragon must have sensed something about her, felt her power, and was entranced by it. The Elder surveyed the trio with a measuring stare. Finally she spoke, her voice clear and confident. The language matched that of Deacon.
"The girl will be a fine wizard. Her mind is strong and her heart is pure. The malthrope may go. I am satisfied with his past accomplishments here. Allow him whatever he requires to further himself. The dragon is still young. Her potential is great. See that she is brought before Solomon. And prepare them. I want each ready with the coming of the blue moon. They must witness the ceremony," she decreed in her complex language.
Leo, clearly understanding her words, took his leave, while Myranda stood confused.
"Just one moment! I will not stand for this!" came a gruff voice from the door, shattering the solemn environment. He, too, spoke the strange language.
Barging into the hut was a dwarf. He wore a look of anger on his bearded face. Every inch of him seemed to be covered in a thin layer of dirt, as though he had spent the day rolling around on the ground. His clothes were brown, though a few shades darker than the tailor had intended, and he was brandishing staff that appeared to be nothing more than a tree root with an unrefined crystal tangled at one end. Myn quickly positioned herself between the intruder and Myranda as the dwarf launched into a rant.
"I will not let this stand! Ayna has just come to me grinning that infuriating grin and twittering about this new student of hers, and how after Solomon finishes with her, she will see what real magic is. I had heard of no newcomers, and my underlings had seen neither hide nor hair either. So, I ask you, why would two of our Masters be anticipating a student that had not had even the most rudimentary of earth training? Because I am being passed over!
"None of you have ever given Earth magic the respect it deserves, and now you have gone to ridiculous lengths to hide the new students from me for the duration of their training. And what is she doing traipsing about with Deacon? He is not even a part of the curriculum!" he raged, all without Myranda understanding a word.
As Deacon began describing the situation to the angry wizard, the other people in the room began gathering up their things and slowly filing out. Myn was growing increasingly upset and sticking close to Myranda. Ayna flitted into the hut and joined the argument in her melodic language. Her words, whatever they may have been, seemed to compound the dwarf's agitation.
Throughout the outpouring of anger, Deacon continued to do his best to mediate, speaking the language of the Elder. The majestic woman merely sat, calmly surveying the fray. Solomon stalked into the hut to add a final voice to the heated debate. Myranda found herself lost in an angry symphony of different languages. Deacon's expression was one of helpless concern as his words grew more desperate in tone. Finally, he stepped away from the other three, who had been essentially ignoring him since the beginning. Approaching Myranda, he struggled to make himself heard over the
din.
"I think you and I had best take our leave," he said, Myn too concerned with the bellowing of the others to object to his presence.
"You'll get no arguments from me!" she replied.
The trio walked briskly out the door, with Myn nearly crashing into the doorway rather than take her eyes off of the fray long enough to see where she was going. Once outside the door, she wedged herself between Myranda and Deacon once more and spread her attentions between him and the noisy hut. When they were just barely midway to the end of the courtyard, Myranda stopped and attempted to question the odd spectacle that they had just witnessed.
"Oh, no. Not here. We will discuss it at the edge of the courtyard," he said, hurrying her along.
"Why so far?" she asked as Deacon urged her to a near sprint.
"Located within that hut are four of the finest wizards to have ever lived. When tempers run high, magic users tend to punctuate their sentences with spells," he said.
"Is it dangerous at--" she began, cut off by sudden and intense shift in the earth beneath her feet, nearly throwing her to the ground.
The trio stumbled to the edge of the courtyard. When they had first approached the open area at the center of the village, Myranda had noticed the succession of short, thick, stone walls that ringed the yard. At the time she found them curious, but now the purpose was clear. The trio took shelter behind one as the shaking earth grew more violent. It was quickly joined by a vicious tearing wind that might have lifted Myn from the ground had she not dug her claws into the earth.
Myranda peeked her head over the wall to see what was happening to the hut. The supports for the walls were creaking and giving way. Shingles from the roof were torn free by the wind and swirled about without touching the ground. They were soon joined by whole sections of wall. Before long, the whole of the hut had been reduced to splinters and was whirling about in the air. At the center of the maelstrom, just barely visible through the thrashing debris, were the wizards.
The dwarf was waving his staff about, causing pillars of stone to burst from the ground like fangs. Solomon had taken to the air, the savage wind more than enough to keep him aloft without the need to flap his wings. As he struggled to remain relatively stationary and dodge the flying shards of wood, he seemed to be spraying flames at an indistinct and fleeting target that could only be Ayna. The flames twisted and turned unnaturally in the wind, following their target like a serpent. The Elder was still seated in her chair, utterly unaffected by the chaos surrounding her. Though the ground was heaving like an angry ocean, she remained motionless, and the gales of wind failed to cause the slightest flutter in her clothing.
Slowly, she rose from her seat. She raised a hand and instantly order was restored. The wind ceased, causing a rain of debris. The waves of earth froze in place, reducing the once-flat yard to a cluster of rolling hills. Solomon dropped to the ground.
The Elder spoke. After a few sentences, the other wizards departed; Solomon approached Myranda and the others, while Ayna and the dwarf returned to their respective places of study. As the dragon traversed the courtyard, the hills and stone spires receded into the ground. The scattered debris rose silently into the air and gathered again in the form of the destroyed hut. The cracks and breaks took on a bright glow before rejoining into the walls and posts that they had been minutes before. In seconds, it was as though nothing had occurred. The hut was whole and solid, the courtyard was pristine and undisturbed, and the men and women were returning with their books.
#
The speed at which the madness in the Elder's hut began and ended seemed to come as a surprise to Myranda alone. Solomon, none the worse for the experience, stood before them as though nothing had happened at all. As he did so, Myn stretched and strained her neck to gain a better sniff at the creature that seemed so familiar. She refused to give up her faithful position at Myranda's side, but was more than eager to learn more about the gray dragon. Solomon obliged her by stepping near enough for the young dragon to inspect him more thoroughly. For a moment, Myn's curiosity overcame her over protectiveness, as she did not treat this new creature as a threat.
"How did it go?" Deacon asked.
"Reasonably well. Myranda will still be allowed to come under my instruction, provided that each of the others has the same opportunity," he answered, choosing Myranda's language for her benefit.
"Reasonably well!? What about the quaking ground and the whirlwind? That was chaos," Myranda replied, dumbfounded.
"No more so than our last debate," Solomon said.
"This has happened before?" Myranda said, mystified.
"It is not an altogether uncommon occurrence," he answered.
"I would say that anytime Ayna and Cresh--he would be the malignant dwarf who began the hostilities--get together, the result is fairly similar to that little display. I must say that you were more active than usual. What managed to raise your ire?" Deacon asked.
"Ayna was particularly condescending on the subject of those races best suited to magic. I decided to illustrate my effectiveness," he said.
"Did it do any good?" Deacon asked slyly.
"I singed her a bit. The message ought to be clear," Solomon said.
With that, the dragon turned his attention to Myn. The pair of beasts engaged in a rather unique conversation. There was much movement by each, but no sounds to speak of. Deacon later explained that the language that dragons are born with is generally exchanged in tones far too low for humans to hear, and precious few of those. The bulk of the information was being transmitted by the movements and postures each assumed. As Myn became bolder, the two began to exchange contact, butting heads and flicking a tongue here or there. Finally, the conversation ended and Myn sat on her haunches, lashing a tail at Deacon, who had apparently ventured a bit too close to Myranda.
"She is healthy enough. You have treated her well. Bring her to me at sundown. The food that you humans eat is less than appropriate for a dragon. Particularly a young one. I am quite sure that she will appreciate the alternative that I have found," Solomon said.
"If you like. I am not certain that she will remain if I do not stay with her, though. It seems she only leaves my side to hunt and to protect Leo," Myranda said.
"If you must remain, then you will. Starting tonight, you are my pupil. You will do as I say," Solomon said. Though his words were ominous, his tone was as steady as it had ever been. He did not speak as a warning or a threat. It was merely a statement of fact. When he had finished speaking, he departed.
Myranda turned to Deacon.
"Tonight!?" she exclaimed.
"Solomon does not sleep in the same way that you or I do. He tends to most of his affairs at sunrise and sunset, with sleep coming during the day as often as night, or sometimes not at all for a week," he said.
"But why so soon?" she asked.
"I suppose he has a special interest in you. In very short order, the whole of the village will share that interest. No one has been assigned directly to a Master since we made the distinction between the different levels of expertise centuries ago, and now you will be apprenticing to four!" he said.
"I am not sure that I am ready," she said.
"By rights, you should be years from ready. That is of no concern of yours, though. Whatever difficulties you may experience rest squarely upon the shoulders of Solomon now . . . Are you all right?" Deacon said.
Myranda's head was reeling, and she appeared unsteady.
"This is all moving so quickly," she said. "I barely know where I am, and now I am going to be a student to a Master wizard. People are fighting over me. I just . . ."
"Calm yourself. You have time. There is no pressure. The pace is yours to set. It may seem overwhelming now, but it will all be routine. In time, you will be quite comfortable with it. I wish that I could sympathize with how you are feeling, but this is the only world I have ever known. Tell me, how can I help you?" he asked.
"I just don't know. This place . . . how ca
n I do what you want me to do?" she said.
"Myranda," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It will be all right, I--oof!"
Myn gave Deacon a sharp butt in the stomach with her head as a punishment for his physical contact, sending him stumbling backward to the ground.
"Myn, no!" Myranda scolded.
"It is all right. It is all right," Deacon groaned. "My mistake. Solomon was right, though. She is quite healthy."
He struggled back to his feet and led her back in the direction of his hut. When they had reached it, he led her inside and had her take a seat.
"You are nervous because you do not know what to expect. I can understand that. I, however, do know what to expect. I have done it all before. Just relax and I will try to put your mind at ease," he said as he sat upon the desk before her.
"What is Solomon like?" Myranda asked.
"Oh, Solomon is a fine teacher. I feel he is one of the best that we have. He is very knowledgeable. Northern is not his best language. Here and there, you may find him struggling for words, but it simply is not feasible for him to expect you to learn to understand one of his preferred languages. I would not worry about him. Sol has got the patience of a saint. He is very forceful, though," Deacon said.
"Forceful?" Myranda asked.
"Yes. He is far stronger of body and mind than he may appear. As a result, when demonstrating something, he may do it far more roughly or powerfully than is necessary. Solomon teaches very seldom, so he has difficulty familiarizing himself with the fragility of his student. You may think that he is angry with you, but I assure you, you will not see him angry. He is merely subjecting you to something that, from his point of view, is quite mild," Deacon said.
"I must say, I do not find that very comforting," she said.
"I assure you, there is no cause for concern. He has never killed or injured anyone. I have known him all of my life and count him among my closest friends. He is like a father to me," he said.
"What will be expected of me?" she asked.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 26
