The Book of Deacon by Joseph R. Lallo
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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 can 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.
"I am not certain. You are technically a beginner, so you should be expected only to perform concentration drills. However, since you are being skipped to the expert level, you may be given the instruction intended for the more experienced. In that case, you would be tested for endurance, and given more complex spells. At any rate, you can be certain that he will teach you to conjure flame, control its size, and dictate its behavior," Deacon explained. "I am quite eager to see how he will handle the process, however."
"I thought you said you have been through all of this before!" she exclaimed.
"I have, but I had to work my way up. Usually a student is already well-versed in a magic by the time they come under the tutelage of the Masters. As a result, all that remains for the Masters to do is survey the skills of the student and administer some sort of test to see that some minimum level of mastery has been met. Then, when the other Masters have done likewise, the student may return to specialize his or her training. Most of us spend only a few days with each Master," he said.
"Is fire magic difficult?" she asked.
"It is one of the more taxing disciplines. Generally, the training is saved until a student has built up more substantial reserves by practicing less energy-intensive magics, like wind," he said.
"So wind magic is easier than fire?" Myranda surmised.
"Officially, all of the elemental magics are equal. Frankly, though, one may come to a rather respectable level of mastery in the art of wind in half of
"What about her? Is she a good teacher?" Myranda asked.
"Highest Master," he said.
"Excuse me?" Myranda said, unsure of the reason she had been corrected.
"She will require you to refer to her as Master at least, but almost certainly Highest Master. Never teacher. After the years she spent climbing the ladder, she wants to be sure no one forgets it. As for her teaching skill . . . it has been adequate for the lower levels. At least, as long as you behave yourself," Deacon said.
"Behave myself?" Myranda questioned.
"She is quite the opposite of Solomon. Extraordinarily impatient and enormously temperamental. Dare I say that her only redeeming value is her utterly comprehensive knowledge of her chosen art? She has attained a level of intensity and dexterity that previously existed only in theory. I have seen her untie and retie a knot with the force of air alone. Astounding. And the utter power! The woman can bore a hole through an arm's length of stone with wind!" he said.
"That sort of power in the hands of someone with a short temper is not the most comforting thought either," Myranda said.
"Well, the first thing you are supposed to learn as a wizard is self-control. It is perhaps the only lesson Ayna did not excel at. Not to worry, she hasn't caused anyone any grievous harm in years," Deacon said.
"But she has hurt someone," Myranda said.
"Not exactly. She was learning some of her more advanced lessons alongside a gentleman by the name of Henrik. It was clear that the teacher was fonder of he than she. That teacher, a woman by the name of Zeln, later said that she found him to be more respectful, and that was why she favored him. Regardless, Ayna challenged him to a duel. They are rare, but not unheard of, and we have procedures regarding them.
"In a wind duel, the purpose is to stay planted on the ground while you attempt to raise your opponent by wind alone. As Ayna is a fairy and not typically a creature of the ground, the rules were bent to instead say that the winner is the one who lifted the opponent highest. Ayna won, but apparently wanted there to be no doubt in anyone's mind. She lifted him until he disappeared in the clouds, then released him. He managed to bring himself to the ground safely, but the sheer force of the wind that lifted him had torn his clothes off and . . . plucked away every last hair of his body," he recalled.
Myranda chuckled.
"Excellent. Your spirits are rising," he said.
"What about Cresh?" Myranda asked.
"He is less volatile, but no less infuriating. Whereas Ayna will launch into a tantrum essentially on a whim, Cresh requires a much more specific stimulus. He is passionate in his art to the point of obsession, a trait shared by most of the other wizards here. In his case, he fairly explodes with fury at even a perceived attack on the relevance of his discipline. You may even insult him personally, but if you speak ill of his art, you had best quickly make amends," Deacon said. "And, before you ask, that little display in the village center earlier is about as far as he ever goes outside of idle threat, and he has yet to hurt anyone."
"Well, that is a relief. And what about water, the only Master I have yet to encounter?" she asked.
"Oh, yes. Calypso. No worries there. Cally is as easygoing as you please. Lighthearted, clever, funny. You'll love her. Her only fault may be that she can be a bit too playful sometimes. She lives down at the lake," he said.
"She sounds nice. I wish I was taking her bit first," Myranda said.
"They are all a treat when you get to know them. I expect that you will be great friends," Deacon said.
"I notice that you don't seem to be on the list of teachers," Myranda said.
"Well, as Cresh was kind enough to point out, I am not a required portion of the curriculum. White and black magics are, but the elementals have seen to it that they come first, and you can reach a fairly high level of mastery on their teachings alone. If I am to be included, it must be by your choice, and I am quite sure your plate is full," he said.
"There may be room for a bit more," Myranda said.
"What do you mean? You wish to learn the gray arts?" he said, cautiously optimistic.
"Since I arrived, I have only met a handful of people willing to speak Northern, and only you have done so without expecting anything from me," she said.
"I don't want you to do this for me," he said.
"Believe me, I have only the most selfish of reasons at heart," she said with a grin.
"This is wonderful. This is exceptional! My first student. There is so much to do! I have to prepare a lesson plan, I have to create trials," he said, rising quickly from his seat. "It is such a wide area, I . . . I don't know where to begin!"
He fumbled through his bag with one hand and felt at his ear with the other.
"Where is my book? Where is my stylus? What a time to lose them!" he said, fairly in a tizzy.
"They are on the desk," she said, amused at the stir she had caused.
"Yes, of course, of course, and at work, too. Blast it, I knew I should have made two of those," he said.
"I think you are the one who needs to calm down now," Myranda said.
"Oh, I can't! Not now, not now! This is momentous! This is important!" he said. "Finally an apprentice!"