Shard Knight (Echoes Across Time Book 1) by Matthew Ballard Page B

trying to control his new power, but the blaring music and boisterous singing sounded twice their normal volume.
    The crowd parted, and a well-worn booth sized for two appeared.
    “I should’ve changed before we came in here.” Rika slid into the booth.
    Ronan’s head throbbed from the shard heightened noise booming around him. He had to regulate the sound before he lost his mind. He focused on the crowd’s roar turning it into a steady buzz and tapped the massive reservoir of power simmering inside him.
    Silence, instant and maddening, surrounded him, but the action around him didn’t. People sang, laughed, and talked. The fiddler played his music, but he heard nothing.
    Panic washed over him, and he pushed away the power he’d tapped. He jumped from his seat as the crowd noise jolted his eardrums, but at a normal level. When he released the bound energy, he returned to normal. As he channeled the river of magic flowing inside him, he nudged the room’s bubble of sound.
    Rika furrowed her brow with a mask of concern. She moved her mouth, and her voice became indistinguishable with the rest of the crowd noise.
    Ronan lowered the room’s ambient sound and focused on Rika’s mouth and her voice.
    Her eyes widened in alarm, and she snapped her fingers in his face. “Ronan, what’s wrong?”
    Ronan jumped in his seat startled at the clarity of her voice as the crowd noise faded to a low hum. “It’s these bloody powers. The citadel provides training for new knights, but I don’t have that luxury. Where’s Master Tyrell when you need him,” he said. “I think I’ve got a handle on bits of it. Hold on a second.”
    Halfway across the room, two men sat at a table sipping on tankards of ale with lecherous eyes locked on Rika. The taller of the two men gazed at Ronan with contempt oozing from his expression. The man’s lips moved, but his voice blended with the low-level buzz filling the inn.
    Ronan tapped into his power and pulled at their conversation. The sound of their voices blared in his ears, and he covered his ears. He released a fraction of his channeled power, and the sound faded to a normal tone.
    “It looks like his sister,” the fat sweaty man said.
    “Whatever. She shouldn’t be wasting time with that scab.” The tall man smoothed his stringy hair over a gaping bald spot. “Tonight’s the night. I’m going to make my move.”
    “Give it up Brock. She’s out of your league,” the fat man said.
    He’d touched a tiny fraction of power to make this happen. The potential of the power flowing through him left him speechless.
    “Ronan. Hey Ronan,” Rika said. She waved her hand in front of his face. “Remember me? You in there somewhere? What’re you staring at?”
    He drew in a sharp breath. “I’m a bit overwhelmed. Sorry. I think I’m okay now.”
    Seated at the table next to Ronan and Rika, two couples sat chatting when Fiona arrived with a loaf of bread and four ales. As she worked, the men watched with open appreciation as she wiped the table and served ale to the women seated with them. Her red hair spilled over deep jiggling cleavage bursting from the front of her dress. The view gave the men, and their dates, front row tickets to a free show. The women didn’t appear as enthralled with Fiona’s serving skills as their male companions.
    Ronan adjusted the sound level and tuned in Fiona’s conversation without any problem.
    “Can I get you boys any napkins?” Fiona said.
    “Excuse me?” The man said.
    “I said, can I get you boys any napkins, so you can wipe the drool from your chin.”
    The men’s faces turned scarlet, and they jerked their leering gaze from Fiona’s low-cut dress.
    The women howled with laughter as Fiona sauntered away smiling.
    Fiona stepped up to Ronan and Rika’s table, leaned over, and began wiping the table in front of Ronan. She placed her cleavage inches from Ronan’s face. “Let me clean this table for you Peter. I don’t understand how some