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The Book of Deacon By Joseph R. Lallo Characters: 5275

Updated: 2018-01-19 12:03


Myranda riffled through the pages of the book in search of other spells bearing her name. Finding none, she carefully placed the precious book down, opened to the page of interest. She then rushed to the bookshelf again and pulled the first book down. Supporting it painfully with her injured arm, she pored through the pages hoping to find her name again. Failing to find it, she searched another, and then another. Over the course of hours, she managed to exhaust the contents of one whole bookshelf. Most books bore labels in Tresson. It was a language she knew well enough, but one that would not likely hold information about her clan, as they had resided in and around Kenvard for countless generations.

Only when the light from the window had faded past the point of usefulness did she stop her search. She dejectedly replaced the book that had stirred her hopes so, turning to the window. The dim glow of a cloud-shrouded moon made her realize that she had completely forgotten her dear little Myn! She ran to the window. The dragon's impromptu bed was empty, a set of tracks leading off into the woods. The panicked shriek of a pursued woodland creature, followed by a tree in the distance shaking free of its blanket of snow assured Myranda that her little dragon was well occupied and quite healthy. She would be just fine.

Satisfied with Myn's wellbeing, the time had come to tend to her own. She looked to the bed. If she was to sleep in the dusty old relic, it would need some preparation. The blanket had to be shaken out, the mattress checked for unwanted resi

had produced.

"Hold still, this will be over soon, " he said as his probing became more vigorous.

"What are you--ow--OW!" she cried.

He showed her the end of the hook. There was a small piece of blood-soaked wood clinging to the end.

"That was in my arm?" she said.

"Aye, " he said. "Were I you, I would have removed that. Clean the wound in the kitchen and we will get a fresh bandage on it. First thing in the morning, we will get you started on that arm."

"Get me started on it? You mean that I will be the one healing it?" she said.

"Aye. To a layman, that injury is a curse, but to a budding white wizard, it is motivation. The sooner you learn the art, the sooner you end your suffering, " he said, turning back to the book he had been reading.

Myranda's head was spinning. It was only now striking her how near she was to achieving what had been a lifelong dream. Ever since that terrible day when she lost her family to the siege of Kenvard, she had longed to find some way to undo some of the damage the war had done.

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