the Freeborn would carry baggage that he couldn’t even pretend to guess at. The pressure of soliciting his father’s help had to be gnawing at his friend’s thoughts.
“All right, then,” Darien finally said. “Let’s go.”
Garrick smiled, tugged on the cuff of one glove, and climbed onto his own horse. It was a brown charger that had been with the Freeborn for many months—it was a good steed, sturdy and dependable, but it felt odd to be without Kalomar.
He wore a blue shirt and a pair of riding breeches that were faded from weeks in the field. His gloves were thin and made of soft leather that fit tight to his hands. Sunathri had offered black garb of the Freeborn, but he refused. Symbols of color were the first vestiges of ownership, and he would not be owned further than he already was.
“Will!” Garrick called to the boy.
Will came to his side. His sunken eyes and unkempt hair told of fitful sleep.
Garrick wanted to talk to Will because the boy’s confidence and sense of joy had was flagging. Will knew something big was happening, even if he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. Garrick was leaving him alone too long, and Will was missing Kalomar, too—even more than Garrick did. In the horse’s death, Will had lost a home. It was a feeling Garrick understood.
Garrick leaned over his steed’s neck. “I’m going into Dorfort with Darien.”
“Can I come along?” Will asked.
“No,” Garrick said. “But I’ll be back soon.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise. I need you to look out for Suni. Help her where you can, all right?”
The boy drew a sigh and nodded as if giving himself strength.
“All right,” Will said. “I’ll look after Miss Suni for you.”
“I’m counting on you,” Garrick said, tousling the boy’s hair. Then Garrick sat up in his saddle and smiled. It
did
feel good to be doing something for a change.
“Come on, Darien, what are you waiting for?” he said.
Darien spurred his horse on, and the two headed for their meeting with Afarat J’ravi, Commander of the Dorfort guard, and Darien’s father.
It was time to gather their army.
Chapter 2
The reception from the people of Dorfort was not particularly warm, but it gave Garrick a sense of comfort to realize he no longer really cared.
His life force was strong enough that he felt the city as he and Darien proceeded over streets that the dry weather had turned into ribbons of hard-packed, reddish clay. The town was in full mid-morning churn, but he felt everything as it moved around him. An essence of concern permeated the city, sticky and tasting bitterly of angst. It reeked of possible magewar. And amidst that concern and fear he sensed the edge of distrust brought on by rumors of Garrick’s own sorcery, distrust that was caustic and carried the faint smell of distant lightning.
Garrick heard whispers as they passed, though he could not say if the whispers were real, or were merely fearful sighs caught in the web of his god-touched magic.
There was no doubt, however, that the people of this city were anxious and wary. They knew why Darien and Garrick were here, and they didn’t agree the quest was needed. The Freeborn’s concern was a squabble between mages, they said. It had no effect on the world as they knew it.
Garrick understood better, though. The citizens of Dorfort may not see the truth properly, but that didn’t change that truth. And the truth of the day was that two armies of mages, each led by god-touched wizards, were preparing to sweep across the plane of Adruin. This truth—and the fact he was hot and uncomfortable from the ride—were the only things that bothered him right now.
Did that mean he was growing up?
Perhaps.
But rather than worry about it, he spent his time thinking about the task.
Darien had been quiet throughout the morning—something out of character. The air of disdain the city held for them seemed to bother Darien more than it bothered Garrick. He looked
“All right, then,” Darien finally said. “Let’s go.”
Garrick smiled, tugged on the cuff of one glove, and climbed onto his own horse. It was a brown charger that had been with the Freeborn for many months—it was a good steed, sturdy and dependable, but it felt odd to be without Kalomar.
He wore a blue shirt and a pair of riding breeches that were faded from weeks in the field. His gloves were thin and made of soft leather that fit tight to his hands. Sunathri had offered black garb of the Freeborn, but he refused. Symbols of color were the first vestiges of ownership, and he would not be owned further than he already was.
“Will!” Garrick called to the boy.
Will came to his side. His sunken eyes and unkempt hair told of fitful sleep.
Garrick wanted to talk to Will because the boy’s confidence and sense of joy had was flagging. Will knew something big was happening, even if he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. Garrick was leaving him alone too long, and Will was missing Kalomar, too—even more than Garrick did. In the horse’s death, Will had lost a home. It was a feeling Garrick understood.
Garrick leaned over his steed’s neck. “I’m going into Dorfort with Darien.”
“Can I come along?” Will asked.
“No,” Garrick said. “But I’ll be back soon.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise. I need you to look out for Suni. Help her where you can, all right?”
The boy drew a sigh and nodded as if giving himself strength.
“All right,” Will said. “I’ll look after Miss Suni for you.”
“I’m counting on you,” Garrick said, tousling the boy’s hair. Then Garrick sat up in his saddle and smiled. It
did
feel good to be doing something for a change.
“Come on, Darien, what are you waiting for?” he said.
Darien spurred his horse on, and the two headed for their meeting with Afarat J’ravi, Commander of the Dorfort guard, and Darien’s father.
It was time to gather their army.
Chapter 2
The reception from the people of Dorfort was not particularly warm, but it gave Garrick a sense of comfort to realize he no longer really cared.
His life force was strong enough that he felt the city as he and Darien proceeded over streets that the dry weather had turned into ribbons of hard-packed, reddish clay. The town was in full mid-morning churn, but he felt everything as it moved around him. An essence of concern permeated the city, sticky and tasting bitterly of angst. It reeked of possible magewar. And amidst that concern and fear he sensed the edge of distrust brought on by rumors of Garrick’s own sorcery, distrust that was caustic and carried the faint smell of distant lightning.
Garrick heard whispers as they passed, though he could not say if the whispers were real, or were merely fearful sighs caught in the web of his god-touched magic.
There was no doubt, however, that the people of this city were anxious and wary. They knew why Darien and Garrick were here, and they didn’t agree the quest was needed. The Freeborn’s concern was a squabble between mages, they said. It had no effect on the world as they knew it.
Garrick understood better, though. The citizens of Dorfort may not see the truth properly, but that didn’t change that truth. And the truth of the day was that two armies of mages, each led by god-touched wizards, were preparing to sweep across the plane of Adruin. This truth—and the fact he was hot and uncomfortable from the ride—were the only things that bothered him right now.
Did that mean he was growing up?
Perhaps.
But rather than worry about it, he spent his time thinking about the task.
Darien had been quiet throughout the morning—something out of character. The air of disdain the city held for them seemed to bother Darien more than it bothered Garrick. He looked
Similar Books
