The Book of Deacon (40 page)

"Well, on this occasion I am most
appreciative, as I've something quite exciting that I need to be
off to. After all of these blasted trips south, I've finally been
given something important to do," Teht declared
enthusiastically.

"South? You've been south? How far?" Trigorah
asked.

"Far enough. It seems as though that is the
only place they send me. And always for the same reasons. Training.
Give these spells to the casters on the front lines. Go have a word
with that necromancer we've got down there . . ." Teht wearily
complained.

"So they
have
been sending wizards to the front
lines. I've been telling Bagu that a few well-placed magic-users
could make an enormous difference," Trigorah said. "How have they
been fairing?"

"Adequately. Status quo. Regardless, they've
got me on a new project now. I'll be helping Demont and Epidime
with something. Something
major
.
.
."
the general rambled.

This was almost certainly why Teht was not
given the same level of seniority as the other generals. She had a
habit of speaking vaguely about things that were clearly intended
to be high-level secrets. It showed a staggering lack of military
discipline that often made Trigorah wonder how she could have
ascended to such a position.

"So I shall be spending my time in that
mountain fort Demont keeps. You know the one. I shall have my own
underlings. This is what I have been waiting for!" Teht
continued.

"I am pleased to hear it. When you were at
the front line, did--" Trigorah pressed, eager for fresh news.

"Never mind that. I've got your new orders
here. I'd say they'll be keeping you busy. Epidime will be loaning
this fort to you so that you can carry them out. I believe you'll
be getting a few of the wagons and your pick of the latest set of
draftees to patch up the holes in your Elites," she interjected.
She handed Trigorah a thick bundle of pages.

"Elites are drawn from veterans, not--"
Trigorah began.

"Yes, yes. Whatever the source, you have your
pick. I'm off," she said, raising her staff.

Before Trigorah could object, Teht spoke a
sequence of arcane words. Recognizing them, General Teloran hurried
through the door and closed it. A moment later there was a
thunderous clap. When the door was opened again, Teht was gone and
the sparse furniture of the room had been hurled to the
corners.

Trigorah had witnessed the spell only once,
and fortunately from a safe distance. She could not be certain what
it was that she had seen that day, but two things were certain. The
spell allowed its caster to travel great distances quickly, and it
left the departure point in a terrible state. She'd since made it a
point to retreat at the sound of those words. It was a technique
that Bagu and the others tended to use only under great duress, but
Teht used it at every opportunity.

Such impulsiveness was a sure way to an early
grave.

Trigorah righted a chair and the table and
set her orders out. They were familiar, and rightly so. She had
written them. It was the list of citizens likely to have had an
opportunity to make contact with the sword. The only additional
information came in a single page added to the end of the report.
Just a few simple words:

In addition to current tasks, revise list and detain
all identified individuals for questioning, release pending the
acquisition of the sword.

"All identified individuals." There were
dozens, perhaps hundreds, and since she'd delivered the report, the
Undermine had become involved. She scanned the pages again.
Shopkeepers. Patrons of taverns and inns. Most of those she'd found
were bystanders. Not that it mattered. She stowed the instructions
with trembling hands. Orders were orders . . .

#

Back in Entwell, Myranda stirred. Despite her
efforts to the contrary, the one who had betrayed her trust
infiltrated her dreams. There was so much about him that
conflicted. He had taken the lives of the soldiers with grim
efficiency, yet he showed naught but tenderness toward the dragon.
He knew precisely how to manipulate her. Even before she had told
him about herself, he had known exactly what type of person she
would have opened up to.

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 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 the 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.