Lord Of The Freeborn (Book 7) by Ron Collins Page A

you did on purpose?”
    “I’ve said I’m sorry for that.”
    “And you think I should forgive it because…?”
    “Because I understand now that I need to serve my purpose,” Garrick said. “You need to forgive me because I’ve finally come to lead the Freeborn as I should have earlier. And you need to forgive me because my Freeborn mages will be a force that supports your people. You need to forgive me because it’s in the best interest of your city that the whole of my order remain here.”
    “Are you daft, Garrick? Seriously? Are you daft? How can you honestly think that I, being of anything resembling a sound mind, could possibly see that hosting an order of mages led by an unstable, god-touched mage would be in any way serving the best interests of my city?”
    Garrick said nothing.
    “Mages scare the wool from people as it is. They don’t want you here. They never have. The only reason I haven’t thrown the Freeborn out of Dorfort to date is because Darien gave his word that he would control the lot of you. But now he’s off his horse, and I see no reason to continue this relationship.” Ellesadil paused. “Besides, I’ve learned something you obviously have not.”
    Garrick waited.
    Ellesadil’s face split into a broad, wild-eyed smile and he ran his hand over his hair as he looked for words.
    “If you think the Freeborn can be led, you are truly insane. Your Torean mages are far more interested in their own freedoms than in the greater good.” Ellesadil held up his hand to forestall Garrick’s complaint. “Or, to give them the benefit of the doubt, they merely wish themselves to be completely free to make assess of themselves however they will. We can debate for weeks and weeks as to whether that idea works or doesn’t, but the fact will always remain that the average Freeborn mage does not want to be managed.”
    “That’s not true.”
    The corners of Ellesadil’s lips curled upward and he gave a gentle shake of his head.
    “Good luck to you, Garrick. I think this conversation is finished.”
    “You have to reconsider.”
    “No,” Ellesadil said, stepping around the table. “I do
not
need to reconsider. But if I
did
reconsider, I might
well
decide to bring charges against you. I thought about doing this already, but prosecuting you would just serve only to create a new martyr, and I don’t want to be the cause of whatever would come of that.”
    Garrick nodded. He had lost.
    “How much time do we have?”
    Ellesadil’s gaze was steady.
    “It’s going to be a long winter. I want to see plans for the order’s departure before the month is over. I expect you to march within a week of first thaw.”
    “It’s fair,” Garrick finally said.
    “I’m glad you see it my way.”
    Garrick turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
    “Good bye, Garrick.”

    Garrick knew he should be upset. Ellesadil had spurned his order, and denigrated his mages. He should be bitter.
    But this life force that boiled inside him would not allow anger to pollute his mood—perhaps he should be angry that he couldn’t get mad. But instead of biting, or punching, or otherwise stewing, Garrick merely walked through the government center’s hallway, down the spiral stairs that swept into the grand entryway, and out of the doors that led him into the city’s streets.
    This was his new life. Leading the Freeborn. There was so much to do, so many decisions to think about.
    He needed to speak with Reynard, of course. The thin mage was prickly sometimes, but he was second in command and he had been with the Freeborn since the moment Sunathri had birthed it. Perhaps the Toreans could go to Whitestone, or maybe somewhere more isolated—Red Marsh to the east, or south where he had grown up amid the sugar cane, maybe even the underground ruins of Arderveer.
    That is, if he could live in a place that gave him daily reminders of his first battleground. He