Quest SMASH

by Joseph Lallo

  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 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 the time it would take to do so in the others," Deacon said, glancing nervously about. "But do not tell Ayna I said that."

  "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 sor
t 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."