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   Chapter 149 No.149

The Book of Deacon By Joseph R. Lallo Characters: 5725

Updated: 2018-01-20 19:02

Ayna suddenly lost consciousness, the force of the magic in the air hurling her through the glowing wall. A moment later, Calypso dropped, her legs shifting back to the emerald tail. She was quickly carried away by apprentices brave enough to enter the ring of magic. Deacon was next, dropping to the ground. Cresh dropped to his knees, consciousness leaving him more slowly.

Myranda, too, reached her breaking point. Unable to pull her mind to this task or any other, she crumbled to the ground, just barely able to keep her eyes open to take in the spectacle. Solomon, Lain, and the Elder remained. The dragon fought valiantly, but the energy was far too much. He dropped down. As the swirling mass of magic and elements seemed to concentrate, the Elder lowered herself slowly to her seat. She seemed to know that her strength would not last a moment longer, as when she finished sitting, her eyes closed and her head bobbed limply to the side in deep sleep.

Only Lain remained, yet the magic continued to focus. Whatever it was that they had been working to create, it had mind enough of its own to sustain itself. An ember of light formed at the base of the altar and slowly circled upward. When it reached the bottom of the mystic elements, it seemed to ignite a thin band of the material into white hot flames. The fire worked its way up the mass. What was left behind was a pair of tapering columns of wind swirling so forcefully and tightly that they were clearly distinct from the air around them. The fire continued its path, revealing a roughly female form composed of the very wind.

When the white hot flames flickered out, twin almonds of golden light opened on what would have been the face of t

n too much to tell who it was that surrounded her, but her ears worked well enough. Distantly, she could hear the ever-present voice of Deacon arguing weakly with someone.

"Yes, I know I must rest. . . I really feel that I could speed my recovery if I had something to occupy my mind, or my hands. . . It would be more soothing than taxing. . ." Deacon said, continuing to argue in as polite a way as was possible.

"Deacon?" Myranda called in barely a whisper.

Her friend was too busy attempting to persuade one of the white wizards to allow him his book to hear. There was someone, though, who heard very clearly. With an unexpected pounce, Myn was on top of her. She must have been lying beside the bed. The dragon dragged her rough tongue all over Myranda's face, but the weary girl was too weak to object. The commotion did not go unnoticed. A trio of white-robed healers converged on Myn and grabbed her. She was far too intent on letting Myranda know how she felt to pay any attention to them. When she had been carried far enough that her tongue could no longer find its mark, she struggled free and leapt atop Myranda again.

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