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   Chapter 125 No.125

The Book of Deacon By Joseph R. Lallo Characters: 5490

Updated: 2018-01-20 12:02


"Solomon?" Myranda said as she tried to sit up in bed.

"Lay down. I come to offer congratulations, " he said.

"I am sorry to hear that Ayna will now be ahead of you in the book of records, " she offered.

"I have no concern for records. I am pleased that I was able to aid you for a time. I see great things in your future, " he said.

"Thank you, " she said.

"One more thing before I leave you to rest. You are raising a fine dragon. Myn is as bright as any I have met, " he said.

"I am glad. Be sure to tell her that, " Myranda said.

"I have. At length. Rest well, Myranda. The worst of your training is behind you now, " Solomon said, rising to leave.

"Wait!" Myranda called out.

"Yes?" he answered, sitting once again.

"I hope you won't mind me asking, but I have been wondering since I met you. I. . . I hope you won't be insulted, but. . ." she fumbled.

"You wish to know about my size, " he guessed.

"Well, yes, " she said.

"There is a city on the west coast. I neither know the name, nor care to know it. Many, many centuries ago, humans there began breeding dragons for their own use. Some for size, some for strength. I was bred to be small, " he answered.

"Why?" she asked.

"It is not my place to understand the motivations of your kind, " he said. "Now rest."

The dragon padded out. It was another week before Myranda found the strength to walk under her own power. She likely could have benefited from another day or two of rest, but the long stay in her hut was beginning to drive her mad. Deacon caught sight of her hobbling and leaning heavily on her staff and quickly scolded her. Myn

Hollow.' It wasn't dead, not technically. It never ate, never moved, but continued to live. We left it in his hut. No one really knew what else to do. Then, decades later, someone heard a noise. Hollow was speaking. His body remains a superb conduit to the spirit realm. In times of incredible import, the voices from beyond speak through him. The words are impossibly cryptic, but flawlessly accurate predictions, " Deacon said, lowering to a whisper as they made their way inside and took a seat on the crowded floor.

A heavy, throne-like chair was brought in by four stout young men. In the chair was a frail and ancient man dressed in a dusty, but not worn, tunic. A pair of milky white eyes stared vacantly across the room at nothing at all. His hands, gnarled like the branches of an oak, curled around the arms of the chair. When the men lowered it to the ground, others opened a chest attached to the back of the chair. Inside were chains and shackles. The shackles were clamped onto both of his ankles and wrists. The chains were attached to loops installed in the walls of the hut.

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