Lord Of The Freeborn (Book 7) by Ron Collins

Chapter 1

    Garrick gazed out the window of Lord Ellesadil’s briefing chamber. It was early morning in Dorfort, and frost still covered the rooftops across the whole of the city. It looked like it was going to be a cold, gray day, and there was so much he had to do.
    He was here to apologize, here to begin a new relationship between the Freeborn mages and the city of Dorfort, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Darien, his friend, and the man he had thrown to the wolves the night before by taking his order out from under him.
    “His” order.
    That still felt strange.
    Garrick had never truly led anyone before, and despite the powers he so obviously bore, he had trouble understanding how anyone would want to be led by him. Certainly Darien wouldn’t. Not anymore. Not that Garrick could blame him.
    The chamber’s sense of isolation, and his memory of Darien combined to make Garrick intimately aware of the state of his life force—the magic, or curse, that Braxidane had planted within him. It was full and brimming over after his time in Existence, restless now, ready to take action. It had taken to responding in ways that were now unnerving and altogether too instinctive for his tastes. For instance, the energy inside him spread over the city on its own.
    He felt fires burning on street corners below—fires in pits where people huddled to warm themselves. He sensed a horse moving over a rutted path, smelled the odor of mud and manure frosted with the morning snow underneath the cover of wood smoke. He felt the vibration of the floor beneath his feet as it shook with the fall of the smithy’s hammer in the manor yard outside.
    These were sensations so small as to have been unimaginable before Braxidane’s magic, and before being steeped in the power of All Existence, but now he felt them all as if he were there.
    He sighed.
    The sound of boots against the wooden floor came from behind him.
    Garrick turned as Ellesadil entered the chamber.
    The lord wore a simple black vest over a white tunic devoid of the usual trappings of his position. His lips were a thin line under the cover of his sparse beard.
    “Garrick,” Ellesadil said in simple acknowledgement as he moved to stand behind his desk.
    “I apologize for my previous rashness,” Garrick replied, already concerned his voice might be too sharp. “I did not mean to accost you.”
    “It’s too late for that,” Ellesadil replied, unconsciously lifting the fingertips of his left hand to his throat, that same throat that Garrick had nearly throttled the day prior.
    “I hope you will let—”
    “Let’s be clear about something, Garrick. I don’t care if you
are
god-touched. And I don’t care if you
are
the high superior of the Freeborn. Neither you, nor your order, can remain in Dorfort. And, if you persist in standing in my office beyond your time, I’ll call my guards to have you forcibly turned out.”
    “Don’t let one thoughtless moment on my part ruin the most important alliance on the plane.”
    “One thoughtless moment?” Dorfort’s leader said. “You think you’ve made only one brash error in judgment throughout this entire play?”
    Garrick winced. Ellesadil was right.
    It was only a matter of time before his life force would drain far enough to be overtaken by the gnawing hunger that lived inside him. It was a dark magic, this thing within him, a dark magic that had destroyed thousands of people. His connection to Braxidane had exposed the plane to things few could imagine, and his actions had put those he loved in constant peril.
    All this despite the fact that Garrick now knew that, as long as he could find his way back to Existence, he could replenish himself. He could not, however, always guarantee he could find Existence.
    Still, he wanted this to work.
    “I can control it, now,” he said, fighting to keep desperation from his tone. “I’m better at it.”
    “So wrapping your hands around my throat yesterday morning was something