224

A WIZARD IN ABSENTIA

“Rights?” Lord Aran turned to stare at him. “What word is that?”

“It means charity for serfs! Protection from wan-ton cruelty! The chance to become happy! It means life! So long as you live, so does that dream! My lord, come away!”

“But… how?” Lord Aran looked about him, a lion at bay, for the first time uncertain.

“Never mind how!” Magnus swung hard. His fist cracked into the lord’s jaw, and the old man folded.

Magnus dropped down and caught him over his shoulder. Grabbing hand and foot in a fireman’s carry, he hurried down the stairs and through the nightmare.

“Grandfather!”

Magnus heard it with his mind, not his ears—they were too filled with the roaring of the flames and the screaming of the serfs. He looked back and up, and saw the small white gauzy form at the door to the keep. Beside her, there was a fainter glow—a boy’s face. “lan!” he called, knowing his voice would not reach and projecting it mind to mind. “Bring the Lady Heloise! Follow!” For of course, he could not leave the heir—the other lords would need to wipe out Aran’s heresy, root and branch.

The blur that was lan’s face jerked as though it had ben slapped; then the girl was stumbling toward the steps as though someone were pulling her, and the boy’s face floated before her as he struggled to follow.

Magnus turned away, thanking his stars for the one that had led him to lan, and wormed and jostled his way through the throng toward the postern gate.