Prologue
God’s Tower was a place of magic, a place of legend, a place of stark, windswept beauty.
Soon it would also be a place of war.
Alistair once told Garrick how Koradic and Lectodine, the two most powerful sorcerers of their time, met there in a council to argue over the control of magic. Those arguments, Alistair said, bore the weight of the schism that birthed the orders.
If Sunathri, Darien, and Garrick had their way, those factions would soon come to God’s Tower again, though for how long Garrick could only guess. It was telling about the nature of the human race, he thought, that the only force great enough to bring the Lectodinian and Koradictine orders together was their shared hatred of the independent mages of the Torean Freeborn.
Garrick thought of the tower often during the quiet hours of late evenings and early mornings. He thought about god-touched mages, and the open chamber inside the tower where that first caucus had been held. He thought about the devastation of Sjesko. He thought about blood and mayhem in the depths of Arderveer, and he knew the horror of those killing fields would pale in comparison to what was to come.
He thought about the life force that pooled inside him.
It was nearly balanced now.
As long as he kept himself busy he could almost forget the fact that this reservoir had come from Arianna and her family. As long as he could keep himself from remembering too much, he could continue on. But memories were everywhere. They came in aromas that suddenly overwhelmed him, in random images that flashed in his mind so boldly he had to stop what he was doing.
The hunger defined him now. It lay hidden inside, rising late at night to touch his dreams, biding its time. Waiting.
He was god-touched.
His life would ever be stable again.
And in those moments when things were at their quietest and his thoughts turned toward God’s Tower, he also thought about the other god-touched mages—those of the Lectodinian and Koradictine orders.
Did they, too, burn with this life force?
Did they carry this same blood lust?
Did they suffer the same way he suffered?
Chapter 1
It was early morning as Garrick watched Darien J’ravi, the commander’s son, climbed atop his horse. Darien's gaze flitted anxiously over the mages who had gathered around. The day promised to be cloudy, though it appeared the rain would stay away. It was early summertime, though, and the heat was already climbing. The ride would be a hot one.
To make matters worse, Darien wore black, befitting his new membership in the Freeborn house. His sleeveless shirt bared his arms and was tucked into a loose-fitting pair of trousers. His leather boots were polished. He had looped a short sword over one shoulder, a weapon that complemented the longer blade he had attached to a saddle loop.
“You don’t need to come with me,” he said to Garrick.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Garrick replied. “We’ve done nothing but make plans for three weeks now. I feel the need to actually go do something.”
Darien’s grin came from deep within a beard that had grown full. It made him look older.
“That, I understand,” he said.
“Beyond that, I may be able to add weight to the discussion with your father.”
Darien nodded, but said nothing.
There was no denying the plan hinged on Afarat J’ravi, Darien's father and Commander of the Dorfort guard. Everyone in the Freeborn camp knew it. Darien would ride to Dorfort, hoping to convince his father to throw the city’s defenses against the armies that the orders had already amassed.
Garrick could never fully understand what this mission meant to his friend, but he knew it would come at a cost. Having already lost one son, Afarat J’ravi had blocked Darien’s path into the guard. Rather than accept his father’s desire, Darien had run off. Though Garrick had traveled with Darien for months, he knew only that Darien's return to Dorfort as a leader of
God’s Tower was a place of magic, a place of legend, a place of stark, windswept beauty.
Soon it would also be a place of war.
Alistair once told Garrick how Koradic and Lectodine, the two most powerful sorcerers of their time, met there in a council to argue over the control of magic. Those arguments, Alistair said, bore the weight of the schism that birthed the orders.
If Sunathri, Darien, and Garrick had their way, those factions would soon come to God’s Tower again, though for how long Garrick could only guess. It was telling about the nature of the human race, he thought, that the only force great enough to bring the Lectodinian and Koradictine orders together was their shared hatred of the independent mages of the Torean Freeborn.
Garrick thought of the tower often during the quiet hours of late evenings and early mornings. He thought about god-touched mages, and the open chamber inside the tower where that first caucus had been held. He thought about the devastation of Sjesko. He thought about blood and mayhem in the depths of Arderveer, and he knew the horror of those killing fields would pale in comparison to what was to come.
He thought about the life force that pooled inside him.
It was nearly balanced now.
As long as he kept himself busy he could almost forget the fact that this reservoir had come from Arianna and her family. As long as he could keep himself from remembering too much, he could continue on. But memories were everywhere. They came in aromas that suddenly overwhelmed him, in random images that flashed in his mind so boldly he had to stop what he was doing.
The hunger defined him now. It lay hidden inside, rising late at night to touch his dreams, biding its time. Waiting.
He was god-touched.
His life would ever be stable again.
And in those moments when things were at their quietest and his thoughts turned toward God’s Tower, he also thought about the other god-touched mages—those of the Lectodinian and Koradictine orders.
Did they, too, burn with this life force?
Did they carry this same blood lust?
Did they suffer the same way he suffered?
Chapter 1
It was early morning as Garrick watched Darien J’ravi, the commander’s son, climbed atop his horse. Darien's gaze flitted anxiously over the mages who had gathered around. The day promised to be cloudy, though it appeared the rain would stay away. It was early summertime, though, and the heat was already climbing. The ride would be a hot one.
To make matters worse, Darien wore black, befitting his new membership in the Freeborn house. His sleeveless shirt bared his arms and was tucked into a loose-fitting pair of trousers. His leather boots were polished. He had looped a short sword over one shoulder, a weapon that complemented the longer blade he had attached to a saddle loop.
“You don’t need to come with me,” he said to Garrick.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Garrick replied. “We’ve done nothing but make plans for three weeks now. I feel the need to actually go do something.”
Darien’s grin came from deep within a beard that had grown full. It made him look older.
“That, I understand,” he said.
“Beyond that, I may be able to add weight to the discussion with your father.”
Darien nodded, but said nothing.
There was no denying the plan hinged on Afarat J’ravi, Darien's father and Commander of the Dorfort guard. Everyone in the Freeborn camp knew it. Darien would ride to Dorfort, hoping to convince his father to throw the city’s defenses against the armies that the orders had already amassed.
Garrick could never fully understand what this mission meant to his friend, but he knew it would come at a cost. Having already lost one son, Afarat J’ravi had blocked Darien’s path into the guard. Rather than accept his father’s desire, Darien had run off. Though Garrick had traveled with Darien for months, he knew only that Darien's return to Dorfort as a leader of
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