Such thoughts and images taunting her throughout the day shook her from sleep far sooner than she would have liked. The sun was only nearing the horizon, but there was no hope of going back to sleep now. She looked for Myn, who was missing again. She could be in only one place, but Myranda couldn't bear to face him right now. But perhaps there was someone else she could speak to.
Myranda left her hut and headed to the training ground. In the stone home of Solomon, the dragon still lay asleep. The interior of the hut was a very strange sight to behold. The small dragon lay atop a pile of gold just large enough to accommodate him. Here and there, a section of wall was blackened by flame. On a pedestal in the rear of the cave was a large, clear gem that looked to have been pulled directly from the ground without the benefit of a gem-cutter's chisel. The room had the same earthy smell that she had found curious in the cave where Myn was found. Myranda tapped him. The creature's eye pulled slowly open and identified the intruder.
"It is not yet time for your training," he managed without lifting his head.
"This isn't about my training. It is about me. Why did you choose me?" she asked.
"You will have time for questions later," he said, closing his eyes.
"No! Please, I need to know now," Myranda begged.
He opened his eyes and craned his long neck into a more attentive position.
"It was intuition. Partly my own, but mostly Myn's," he said before a long, silent yawn that gave Myranda a clear view of his teeth.
"Myn's?" Myranda asked.
"You claim to have been present at the unfortunate circumstances surrounding the creature's birth. After speaking with her, I believe that this is so. The fact that you are alive today speaks of something that is special about you," he said.
"Why? I thought that she had merely sought out the only thing that had a heartbeat," Myranda said.
"I am sure she did, but a dragon, even at birth, is quite capable of identifying others of its kind. There are times that a parent cannot be present at the time of the hatching. When that happens, wounded prey is left as food for the creatures. When Myn found you sleeping, this is what she should have seen you as. Instead, she saw you as a guardian. A protector, as well as something to be protected. She chose you. We dragons see more of the world than what our eyes show us. We know things. She saw something in you that day, and I see it as well," he said.
"But what? What did you see?" she asked.
"It cannot be put into words," he answered, "but I can tell you this: she sees it in Lain as well," he said. "And he too was present at her birth."
"Lain? The malthrope!? He was there!?" she said.
"Certainly. But that alone would not explain her attachment to him. He too has the spark. I can see it quite clearly. It is stronger than yours. Were he willing, I would have taken him as my pupil all of those years ago. But enough questions. Return at sundown," Solomon said, settling back down for sleep.
"Yes, thank you, I will," she said, leaving the hut.
Myranda marched out of the hut and directly to the stand of trees where she had found the malthrope the day before. He was nowhere to be found, but there were tracks from Myn, who must have checked here as well. Carefully, she followed them. They led further into the Warrior's Side.
Entering it alone made Myranda suddenly aware of how different it was from Wizard's Side. While wizards could often be found in spirited discussion with one another, that trait was compounded here. Men screamed at each other as they voiced their opinions. Here and there, students sparred under the supervision of teachers. There were archery targets and practice dummies populating sizable runs of ground. Finally, she found her way to a simple hut, smaller than the one that had been provided for her. There was not even a door. She approached the opening and was enthusiastically greeted by Myn.
"Resourceful," the malthrope's voice came from within.
"I accept your offer, and I want to begin right now," she said, entering the hut.
It was absurdly austere. There was not even a bed. A cloth was spread on the floor, upon which the creature was sitting cross-legged.
"Haven't you got previous obligations?" he asked.
"Solomon is not ready for me yet, and you are," she said.
"Very well," he said, climbing to his feet and leading her out the door.
They approached a storehouse. Her teacher entered, returning with a pair of quarterstaffs.
"Have you ever used one of these?" he asked.
"No," she said, catching it as it was thrown to her.
"Hold it with one hand in the middle, the other between the middle and the end," he began.
After a short demonstration of the correct manner to defend and attack, he instructed her to first prepare herself, then attempt to strike him. She could use whatever method or style she chose, and he would only defend, not attack. After a deep breath, she put her limited knowledge to use.
It became clear after the first maneuver that this would be a long and grueling road. The malthrope's movements were subtle and fluid. A minor shift of the foot, a tiny adjustment of his staff, and the best attacks of Myranda were thwarted. After each round of attacks, he would offer advice to improve her method. Early in the training, Myn was concerned by the fact that the two people who meant the most to her were trying to hurt each other. Very shortly, she calmed, perhaps because she understood that he was trying to teach Myranda, or perhaps because Myranda seemed unable to do any harm.
By the time the sun had set, Myranda was nearly exhausted. She had learned to handle the weapon, and understood its use fairly well, but had made no progress in successfully attacking the teacher. As the darkness of night fell about them, she knew it was time to turn to lessons in magic. Myranda took her leave and headed toward Solomon's hut.
As she walked, Myn in tow, she realized that she had yet to eat. After the exertion she had just endured, a meal would have been welcome, but there was no time now. She made a quick visit to her hut to retrieve her casting staff and stow her quarter staff before hurrying to Solomon.
The dragon greeted her and put her immediately to work. After the trance was achieved, she was instructed in the method of "bending the will of the fire." The training was mercifully less taxing, calling for more detailed manipulation, as opposed to the marathon usage of the day before. She learned how to shape the fire and carefully regulate the heat and light it created.
Solomon seemed pleased with her progress. As a final task before parting for the night, Solomon had her conjure a flame from nothingness, as he had done for her previously. When she managed to do so, he informed her that her training for the night was through and that she should get some rest.
"At this rate, you will be offered the final test of fire before the week is out," Deacon said, having appeared while she was entranced.
"Thank you," she said, using her staff to get to her feet.
"I understand you and Lain have started your training. I am sorry I missed it. Have you shown the same skill in battle as you have in magic?" he asked.
"Not nearly," Myranda answered. "You called him Lain, as did Solomon. I thought that was just a title."
"It is. In the absence of a real name, it seems only fitting to refer to him by the title he earned," he said.
"I suppose I may as well do so," Myranda said.
"How is your head? Is the magic still taking its toll as severely?" he asked.
"I've still got most of my wits about me," she said.
"Splendid. Your endurance is improving. You will need that for the final test," he said.
"What is the final test?" she asked.
"Well, you see--" he began.
"Wait, I haven't eaten yet. Tell me on the way," she said.
As the trio continued on, they spoke.
"When any of our Masters are satisfied that you have learned enough, they will administer a test to be sure of your understanding. Each comes in two parts. The first is an endurance trial that will assure that you have t
he strength to perform the spells that are expected of a Master. The second is the dexterity trial that will assure you have the skill of mind to perform the most complex of spells. Both take place in the same day," he explained.
"Wait. You mean to tell me that the complex test will be immediately following the taxing one?" Myranda said.
"Indeed. I think you will agree that is a fine method for determining whether one ought to be considered a Master," he said.
They spoke while each finished their meal. When they were through, Deacon remarked that Myranda seemed a bit more physically weary today than she had in the past. Myranda assured him that such would be the case from now on, thanks to Lain's lessons. He escorted her to her hut and bid her goodnight.
The next day passed in much the same way. She arose before sundown, trained with Lain until night, trained with Solomon until dawn, enjoyed a meal with Deacon, and collapsed into sleep again.
In many ways, it was a far more difficult life than the one that she'd lived before she found the sword. The only trial then was finding enough food and shelter to live comfortably. Here, she was constantly being tested in both mind and body. Yet, she could not say that she was unhappy. As trying as it was to be here, it was a home--her first real one since the days when Kenvard still stood. She had a very real friend in Deacon, and she was learning things. Not simply magic or combat, either. In those times when she was too weary to undergo any of her training, she would sit among the others of the village. Slowly, she was finding that she understood more and more of what they said. By the end of the first month, she found that she could at least follow conversations in nine different languages and make herself understood in a half-dozen.
One thing burned at her. In Solomon's training, she was progressing, though perhaps not as quickly as Deacon had theorized. Such was not the case with Lain. Her understanding of staff combat was manifold what it had been when she began. She knew that her abilities had expanded vastly, but she had yet to lay a single blow on Lain. Not once did her attack even approach success. It frustrated her to no end that she could try so hard, and he could stop her so easily.
What bothered her more was how powerful her emotions became when she was attacking. She felt an intense anger that grew with every failed attempt. Lain could sense it and she knew it. There was no outward indication of it, but the warrior could feel the change in her, and he enjoyed it. She truly was sacrificing a part of herself for even a chance to learn what he knew.
Something changed one day. She had finished yet another infuriating session with Lain and approached Solomon. He had, the day before, taught her how to create different types of flame by "feeding" the fire different types of energy. The results were remarkable, ranging from a black flame that only consumed, shedding no light, to a whitish blue flame that burned cold. She was looking forward to more of the same, but it was not to be. There was a crowd again, awaiting her arrival, and the dragon had some equipment in place.
"Today, Myranda, you will be tested. Ready your staff and follow my instructions," he said.
She clutched the crystal and began to ready her mind. In the past week or so, she had found that the trance came easily enough that she could now cast spells while still remaining aware of her surroundings. She did so now, gathering her mind while looking nervously about at the onlookers. Solomon lowered a large, twisted stone into a clay stand with a hole in it. Below it was another block of clay with a hole in the top, aligned with one in the stand.
"You will focus as hot a flame as you can manage onto this piece of ore for as long as it takes to melt it entirely into the mold below," he said.
No more instructions followed. Myranda took a deep breath and began to conjure heat. She was already beginning to tire before the metal had even begun to glow. She found that she needed to double her efforts and double them again before the stone began to soften. The draw on her power, even after all of the improvement she'd had, was unbearable. She could feel the heat she was generating on her face despite the fact that she was a fair distance from the ore. Crackles and snaps emanated from the stone as it began to lose its form. By the time the first fat orange drop of molten metal flowed into the mold, she could no longer focus her eyes.
Myranda started to relent, trying to gather her mind for a renewed effort, but as soon as she did she felt the heat fade and the stone began to harden again. She couldn't rest, or she would lose ground. It had to be done all at once. Myranda poured all that she had into making the heat as intense as possible.
The second drop fell, followed by a third. Soon, a steady flow had formed, but she knew she couldn't last much longer. The stone had settled into a thick pool of bright orange glowing fluid with a ribbon of the stuff leading from the stand to the mold. A dizziness was swirling in her head that threatened to rob her of her consciousness, but she was too close to fail now.
As she turned to look at the crowd, they seemed to be moving in slow motion. She could barely muster the strength to grip the crystal. The pool of metal was now receding into the center of the stand. Just a few more drops.
After countless eternities, it seemed, the last drop fell and she released her mind's grip. The world rushed back in a dizzying swirl of awed whispers and enthralled faces. Solomon took away the stand and the mold. Had anything but a dragon done so, they would have been horribly burned. Myranda fought to remain awake as dry leaves were scattered on the ground before her. Atop the leaves there was placed a piece of parchment, and atop that more leaves were spread.
"To complete your test and prove to all that you have a masterful knowledge of this discipline, you must prove the dexterity of your mind by burning the paper without touching the leaves," Solomon said.
Knowing if she did not act quickly, she would lapse into deep and involuntary sleep, Myranda drew her mind as tightly as she could to the task. It was impossible to see where the leaves were below the paper, so keeping her eyes open was of no use. She closed them and instead looked through her mind's eye.
Slowly, she conjured a precise flame and guided its spread. Simultaneously, she kept the leaves near the flame cool. Spreading her mind in so many directions at once would have been difficult enough with a fresh start, but now it was as though she was attempting to juggle with her hands tied. The paper was steadily devoured by the flames, and as it fluttered off as ash, the weight upon her mind was slightly lessened. So little was left. Just a bit more.
At last, the final speck of paper was destroyed. She opened her eyes to find that at some point during her concentration she had collapsed to the ground without realizing. She tried to right herself, but her body would not obey. A thousand miles away, the crowd surrounding her let out a roar of approval. She was vaguely aware that Deacon was lifting her onto his shoulders as the onlookers swept in to offer congratulations. This turned out to be more than Myn could bear, and she let a burst of flame free to back the crowd away, allowing only Deacon to touch her.
He thanked the dragon for both the help and the permission and made his way to Myranda's hut. Tomorrow she would be told that she had succeeded. Today she would have a very well deserved sleep. After a trial like that, it would be a slumber from which it was difficult to awake.
Chapter 24
A trio of worn and ragged forms rushed through the night toward a flimsy shack nestled in a stand of evergreens. When they reached it, the door was flung open and they tumbled inside. A lamp was clumsily lit, revealing walls covered with soggy maps and a table heaped with pages of every shade, quality, and state of repair.
The three figures huddled about the light. The first, Undermine leader Caya, cleared the table with her arm and dumped a leather satchel on the table, replacing the notes with fresher ones. Her partner, Tus, did the same. Their final companion was casting nervous glances through a slit in the door.
"Kel, don't dally. Show us what you've got," Caya said.
Kel was one of the newer recruits and had ended up as third in command fairly quickly, mostly by virtue
of the rapidly dwindling ranks of the Undermine. The man dug through his pockets and deposited a few grubby wads of paper on the table.
"That's it?" Caya asked. "Why didn't you bring more?"
"That's all there was. The usual places are empty. All the drop spots. Everything. Half--half of the places aren't there anymore," Kel sputtered nervously. "Commander, I think I heard something."
"Easy, Kel," she said, looking over the notes.
After fumbling through the scattered pages until she unearthed a quill and an ink bottle, Caya attempted to make a mark on one of the maps, only to find the ink frozen. She placed the bottle on the lamp and looked at the map.
At its height, the Undermine had agents in nearly every city. That was when her father had been running things. In the weeks after Myranda's arrival on the grand stage, they had very nearly equaled that. Now things were falling apart. As the ink melted enough to be useful, Caya digested the pages she'd brought with her. One by one, names were crossed off. Cities, safe houses, and informants were scribbled off of the map. By the time all had been considered, there were only a handful of names left, and only two marks on the map. Caya sagged, but the eyes of the others looked to her expectantly.
"Well . . ." she began. "Between desertions, casualties, people turning rat, and all of the arrests . . . membership is down."
"How far down?" Kel asked, glancing again to the door.
"We're it," Tus stated, his eyes on the updated roster.
"Well, not quite, but soon. I suppose we only were able to exist because the Blues didn't consider us a threat . . . now they do," she said.
"About time," said Tus.
"Heh. Yes. At least they are taking us seriously now. Kel, there's too much going on now. My brother Henry is the one giving Wolloff his supplies. If the Elites are still prowling around in Ravenwood . . . I would just feel better with a hand that is a bit firmer on a sword doing the job. I want you to see to Wolloff," Caya said.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 30
