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As the trio walked, Myn reluctantly walking beside Myranda rather than between her and Deacon, Deacon's excitement became contagious.
"What is it you have up your sleeve?" she asked, as she was led to a portion of the village that had a small stand of trees. It was deep within the Warrior's Side.
"Well, you have been permitted immediate Master-level training in all of our mystic disciplines, so I got to thinking. If it is agreed you have this remarkable propensity for magic, perhaps you will do equally well in combat. After all, you told me your father was a particularly successful soldier," Deacon offered.
The smile left her face.
"I don't want to fight, Deacon," she warned.
"Now, now. Hear me out. I managed to coax the Elder into granting you the Master-level trainer of your choosing. We have a great many. I intend to introduce you to each and every one until you find the one you feel you might want to spend a little time with," he said.
"I have no interest in learning how to hurt people. I want to help people," she said.
"That is fair enough. I can respect that. It is an important thing to have value for life and the quality thereof for all living things. Still, there is a bit you could stand to learn. Particularly from some of our more senior experts," he said, urging her on.
"No. I don't want to," she said, remaining firm.
"Please. Just talk to one. Just one. I think you will change your mind," he said.
Myranda sighed and continued on, slightly annoyed that the excitement she felt had been for something she found so hideous. As she approached a tall, thickly-leafed tree, Deacon motioned for her to stop. She studied the tree, which seemed awfully healthy for the time of year. If not for the unnaturally pleasant weather in this place, the tree would be a sparse husk.
"I have a student here for you," Deacon called into the near-pitch-black branches.
"No," answered an all-too-familiar voice.
"You know that when you were sworn as a Master, you were to take on at least one apprentice in order to pass on some small part of your knowledge. It is our way," Deacon reminded him.
"Not her," the voice said, startling all but the dragon by coming from behind them. Both humans turned quickly to see the malthrope casting a vicious look at Deacon.
Considering that such a short time ago he was near death, he was in remarkable condition, though from his posture, some injuries were still nagging him. His clothes were the same tunic as most of the others, but his was black. In the darkness of the night, sheltered by the shadows of the trees, he could take two steps back and disappear from sight.
"I am afraid that she is presently our only student not currently engaged with another Master, and you are the only Master not tutoring at least one student," Deacon said.
"And if I refuse?" he said.
"I had a word with the Elder. She informed me that if Myranda chooses to study under your tutelage, you are honor-bound to provide it. You took the oath," Deacon informed.
Now Myranda understood. This was the only way that she would be able to learn the truth from the one she knew as Leo. Deacon was helping her to force him to listen.
"You still owe me an explanation!" Myranda demanded.
"Do not do this, girl," he warned.
"I choose him," she said.
"You have made a terrible mistake," the malthrope fumed.
"I have had enough of the lies. It is worth it to hear the truth," she said.
"Excellent. Superb. I will inform the appropriate people. As a Master with an apprentice, you naturally have access to any resources you find necessary to teach. Myranda, on those days that you are not overly taxed by your lessons in magic, you will report here and take lessons in combat from our skilled expert. I will leave you two to get better acquainted for now and get some much-needed rest," Deacon said, walking away with a grin.
The malthrope and the girl exchanged long, angry stares. Myn was aware of the tension, and confused by it. This was the first time she'd had the two of them to herself since they left the cave, but they were not the same. For a time, there was silence, but it was broken when the warrior turned back to the tree.
"Where do you think you are going?" Myranda demanded.
"I came here to restore my strength. I intend to do so," he said, fists and teeth clenched.
"You owe me the truth, Leo--or whatever your real name is," Myranda said.
"What makes you think I owe you anything?" he fumed.
"I trusted you, and you betrayed that trust," she said.
"That is no fault of mine. If you place your trust too easily, such can be expected," he said.
"You have been lying to me since you met me," she said.
"What does it matter?" he said.
"I saved your life!" she said.
"And I saved yours. You would have been dead if I hadn't brought you here. Those Elites are relentless. If you go where they can follow, they will follow. They would have captured you, brought you to their superiors, and made an example of you," he retorted. "You saved my life once, but by bringing you here, I have saved you a thousand times over."
"Why then? Why save me if when you first met me it was you that wanted to capture me? And why did you release me?" Myranda asked.
The malthrope turned away.
"You have done nothing to earn what you seek, and you have nothing to offer in exchange. Were I you, I would become accustomed to mystery," he said.
"Don't do this to me, Leo," Myranda said, almost pleading. "My life has been so empty. So uncertain. You know everything about me. The fate of my home town. The fate of my family."
"Seek sympathy elsewhere," he said emotionlessly.
"I don't want your sympathy. I just want answers," she said.
"Why do you want to know? Do you really think that knowing the truth will make you happier? I assure you, it never does," he said.
"I don't care. I must know what you really are. I must know what you wanted with me, why you captured me, why you let me go, why the Elites were after you. What is your name?" she said. "I cannot bear the secrets any longer. If I must earn the right to know, then I shall. I will do anything. Just tell me what," she said. "I am asking you for so little."
"Are you?" he said.
The creature stood silent and cast a judging stare. After some thought, Myranda could see that he had come to a decision. He reached behind him and revealed a dagger. Myranda was a bit unnerved, but held firm. He then tossed it in the air and caught it expertly by the tip, pointing the handle in her direction.
"Take it," he said.
"Why?" she asked.
"Take the weapon," he ordered.
She did so.
"Now use it," he said.
"How?" Myranda asked.
The malthrope pulled up his sleeve and clenched his fist.
"No," she said, dropping it to her side.
"Cut me," he said.
"Absolutely not," she said.
"You said that you would do anything. Draw a single drop of blood and I will tell you every detail," he said.
Myranda froze. This was what she wanted. She approached him, gripping the dagger firmly. It was a simple thing. Just a cut. It needn't be a large one, either. Just enough to show blood. She passed those words through her mind again and again as she tried to muster the strength. She put the blade to his arm and took a deep breath. Just a little pressure. Just a tiny push. Her hand was shaking. Finally, she dropped the weapon to the ground.
"There, you see? It isn't in you to hurt another. Just as it isn't in me to reveal myself. If you truly expect me to betray who I am and tell what you wish, then I expect you to do the same," he said. "That is fair."
"You are cruel," she said.
"I am just. And to prove it, I will offer you a second chance. Show up for training tomorrow. I will be your opponent. For every solid blow that you land, I will answer a single question," he said.
"I don't want to hurt you," she said.
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"I doubt that you could, even if you wanted to. But if you do not wish to receive my training, then have that obsequious wizard of yours tell the Elder that you waive your right," he said.
Myranda turned away in disgust and left the creature behind. After a dozen or so steps, the lack of constant clicking footsteps behind her drew her attention. As she looked back to find Myn, in the darkness of the trees, she could just barely make out malthrope crouching, scratching the dragon's head. A moment later, he seemed to vanish from sight and the dragon came prancing to her side. Myranda crouched to scratch her head as well.
"I wish I could see him as you do," she whispered.
The sun was beginning to rise, which, in her new routine, meant soon it would be time for bed. After a swift detour to Deacon's hut to affirm that he indeed was asleep, Myranda found herself with time to herself without her guide. She walked about, trying to clear her head before she retired for the evening. Here and there, a curious villager would stop to speak with her, sometimes willingly speaking her language, other times lacking the patience to do so.
Those who did speak to her seemed to treat her as a novelty or oddity, except for the handful who were her age, who had feelings ranging from thinly veiled jealousy to outright resentment. Mostly, though, she was ignored. Everyone here was passionately pursuing one interest or another, and they found in that pursuit all that they needed. By the time morning had come in earnest, Myranda had gone to bed, drifting off to a troubled sleep.