memory and feelings into the minds of Athas, Markus and Dagonet. Showing them was easier than telling them, and they’d be able to judge the power of the spell if they experienced his memory of it.
All three of the older boys looked at him, astonishment written in their expressions. They’d comprehended the complexity of the spell over the castle.
“That is a great deal of power,” Dagonet mused.
“It will not be a problem,” Lord Varthan said, but his tone called for the shade’s opinion.
“No, my lord,” Dagonet said. “It’ll take effort and strategy to break through it, but I don’t see that it’s impossible.”
Lucan looked Dagonet up and down. The older boy was almost as powerful as him.
What would it take for their master to consider him as invaluable as Lord Varthan currently saw Lucan?
He was envious that Dagonet could get away from their master as he saw fit.
“Athas, did you see a proper inn?” Lord Varthan glanced away from Lucan and Dagonet.
“Yes, deserted, of course, but not far from here.”
“Lead the way.” Varthan kicked his horse.
“Milord?” Dagonet inquired.
“We will need to rest before you take the spell down,” Varthan growled. Their master did not like to be questioned.
The older boy gave a curt nod.
Lucan urged his horse to follow, saying nothing and making sure he was between Dagonet and their master so Athas couldn’t have open access to him.
No shade other than Dagonet actually questioned Lord Varthan and escaped punishment.
He glanced over his shoulder to find Dagonet’s hazel eyes steadily regarding him.
Lucan looked away, shifting in his saddle.
He was relieved their master was allowing them to rest. Although he’d not gotten anywhere when he’d probed for magic, exhaustion from the energy he’d expended was paramount. And their master was well aware magic was stronger if a body was rested.
Lord Varthan had pressed the shades hard to get to Tarvis, and they all could use a hearty meal and a real bed.
Not that Lucan ever complained, but he would be happy to lay his head on a real pillow. It’d been quite a while.
Hopefully his master would let him have his own room.
Or at least a room away from Athas.
“There will be no people there, milord,” Athas said.
“Less coin to pay for the room.” Lord Varthan gave a humorless laugh.
Markus and Athas exchanged a nervous glance and Lucan gulped.
Dagonet was the only one that seemed unbothered, but that just made Lucan shift in his saddle even more.
****
Braedon rode hard.
He was worried he was asking too much of Roan, for his stallion was rather elderly. He had to get there.
Patting the horse named for his color, he urged him to greater speed.
If he pushed Roan, he risked taking longer; the old stallion wouldn’t survive injury, but he didn’t want to stop. He was a good hard three days’ ride away from the center of the call’s location.
“I’m sorry, lad, but we’ve a call to answer. It’s important, I promise.” He leaned closer to Roan’s neck to ease his horse.
The stallion was dear to him. His horse was two turns older than his son and had accompanied him when he’d fled Aramour.
Roan was the only sense of home that remained with Braedon every day.
When he’d left his family, he’d honestly believed he would never see them again. His heart beat faster. He’d see his son, after all these turns.
He kicked himself for questioning the call for two days.
Dreams had continued to haunt him, so Braedon had blamed it on that. Meditating to clear his mind, he’d seen it. Like a slap in the face. Obvious. And Braedon was an idiot.
Very clearly . . . three magical auras . . . calling to him.
The first was familiar. Hadrian, his mentor and very old friend.
The second had a magical trail not so different from his own. Jorrin had to be at the center of the call.
Braedon wasn’t familiar with the third, but the call was being simulcast, so it couldn’t be
All three of the older boys looked at him, astonishment written in their expressions. They’d comprehended the complexity of the spell over the castle.
“That is a great deal of power,” Dagonet mused.
“It will not be a problem,” Lord Varthan said, but his tone called for the shade’s opinion.
“No, my lord,” Dagonet said. “It’ll take effort and strategy to break through it, but I don’t see that it’s impossible.”
Lucan looked Dagonet up and down. The older boy was almost as powerful as him.
What would it take for their master to consider him as invaluable as Lord Varthan currently saw Lucan?
He was envious that Dagonet could get away from their master as he saw fit.
“Athas, did you see a proper inn?” Lord Varthan glanced away from Lucan and Dagonet.
“Yes, deserted, of course, but not far from here.”
“Lead the way.” Varthan kicked his horse.
“Milord?” Dagonet inquired.
“We will need to rest before you take the spell down,” Varthan growled. Their master did not like to be questioned.
The older boy gave a curt nod.
Lucan urged his horse to follow, saying nothing and making sure he was between Dagonet and their master so Athas couldn’t have open access to him.
No shade other than Dagonet actually questioned Lord Varthan and escaped punishment.
He glanced over his shoulder to find Dagonet’s hazel eyes steadily regarding him.
Lucan looked away, shifting in his saddle.
He was relieved their master was allowing them to rest. Although he’d not gotten anywhere when he’d probed for magic, exhaustion from the energy he’d expended was paramount. And their master was well aware magic was stronger if a body was rested.
Lord Varthan had pressed the shades hard to get to Tarvis, and they all could use a hearty meal and a real bed.
Not that Lucan ever complained, but he would be happy to lay his head on a real pillow. It’d been quite a while.
Hopefully his master would let him have his own room.
Or at least a room away from Athas.
“There will be no people there, milord,” Athas said.
“Less coin to pay for the room.” Lord Varthan gave a humorless laugh.
Markus and Athas exchanged a nervous glance and Lucan gulped.
Dagonet was the only one that seemed unbothered, but that just made Lucan shift in his saddle even more.
****
Braedon rode hard.
He was worried he was asking too much of Roan, for his stallion was rather elderly. He had to get there.
Patting the horse named for his color, he urged him to greater speed.
If he pushed Roan, he risked taking longer; the old stallion wouldn’t survive injury, but he didn’t want to stop. He was a good hard three days’ ride away from the center of the call’s location.
“I’m sorry, lad, but we’ve a call to answer. It’s important, I promise.” He leaned closer to Roan’s neck to ease his horse.
The stallion was dear to him. His horse was two turns older than his son and had accompanied him when he’d fled Aramour.
Roan was the only sense of home that remained with Braedon every day.
When he’d left his family, he’d honestly believed he would never see them again. His heart beat faster. He’d see his son, after all these turns.
He kicked himself for questioning the call for two days.
Dreams had continued to haunt him, so Braedon had blamed it on that. Meditating to clear his mind, he’d seen it. Like a slap in the face. Obvious. And Braedon was an idiot.
Very clearly . . . three magical auras . . . calling to him.
The first was familiar. Hadrian, his mentor and very old friend.
The second had a magical trail not so different from his own. Jorrin had to be at the center of the call.
Braedon wasn’t familiar with the third, but the call was being simulcast, so it couldn’t be
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