NINE

 

NO TRIAL

 

The night was growing old. Soon it would die, giving birth to a new dawn. Nothing stirred in the darkness, nothing except the rhythmic snores of the man lying on the other side of the smoldering campfire.

Leonado must have slept, but he had no recollection of dozing off. Ever since his brush with death, he had been too wary to close his eyes for long. Had he been a mortal, Leonado would have died, the wound too large and full of poison. He still had to cast a strong rejuvenating spell over himself in order to survive, and it had taken him weeks to recover. If he ever found out who shot that poisoned arrow, he would inflict the culprit with every agonizing torture he could think of.

Part of his anger was directed at himself for not being more careful. A sorcerer as powerful as himself didn’t let an oversight like that occur. Dragonfire reminded him of his folly often enough.

During those first pain filled days fighting for his life, his mysterious tutor had been conspicuously absent, letting him suffer alone. Despite the torment of his healing wound, Leonado felt almost like his old self.

The endless days of pain gave him ample time to think and regret. He’d been a fool, a gullible fool led on by the promise of easy magic. His father had told him often enough that everything worthwhile in life had to be fought for. If only Dragonfire would leave him alone, he’d make amends somehow. He had managed one act of vengance against him. He’d urged Krystos to hide Darkfire somewhere and never reveal its presence to him. For some reason, the captain had been happy to comply, taking the evil blade out of his sight.

Krystos had been a constant companion during those days, feeding him and dressing his wound. Only he wasn’t Krystos any more. Forced to lie on his stomach on a makeshift bed in one of the salvaged tents, Leonado caught glimpses of work roughened hands and short, stumpy legs trundling about outside the tent. Even though he appreciated Krystos’s care, Leonado felt nothing for him any more. It made him wonder if he ever had. He certainly hadn’t been attracted to men whilst still in the care of his father. In fact he felt intense anguish every time he remembered seeing Karina holding the hand of the big brave knight.

How he had gleamed, charging into the camp like a golden god, his enchanted weapon hacking down pirates as he went. Perhaps that had been part of Leonado’s problem that morning. Too intent on watching Sir Alecsis and Krystos battle it out, he hadn’t paid enough attention to his own safety.

Leonado had tried to talk to Krystos about the knight called Alecsis, but the mere mention of his name sent the captain into a demented rage.

“He should be dead!” he cried. “How dare he survive to grow so tall and strong? I’ll take over his body if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

“Ye want to go home, and see him as your ticket?” Leonado dared ask. When no answer came, he tried to look up, but the movement chafed at his healing wound, and he lay back down. He had his answer anyhow. Krystos had tried to take over his countryman’s body, and failed, which confirmed what Leonado already suspected; mageblood flowed in Alecsis’s veins. Only a very powerful mage could survive such an attack.

There’s no point in regrets, young Leonado, Dragonfire broke into his reverie. We may have failed to capture the sword and kill Alecsis this time, but we’ll try again as soon as you’re able to travel. You won’t fail me again. A man who dares to defame the memory of my partner by wearing her hide deserves a slow and painful death.

Shocked and disappointed to discover his tutor had reaturned to haunt him, he remained silent for a moment.

Don’t ignore me, Leonado. You know I don’t like it. The young sorcerer felt the familiar pain bearing down upon his mind.

What about Krystos? He wants Alecsis for himself, he asked eventually.

With The Holy Avenger and Darkfire in Krystos’s grasp, you and he should have no trouble in bringing the mountain down. Without his sword, Alecsis will be as helpless as a new born babe. I think I’ll take care of him myself once I’m free. Krystos won’t take him over. He already tried and failed. Alecsis is too strong for that, but he will be powerless against one as magnificent as I. I shall destroy him slowly and mercilessly for daring to wear dragonhide upon his feet. She was so beautiful, my sweet love. To see her come to this, is… is unbearable.

For the first time Leonado heard true emotion creep into Dragonfire’s voice, but he was beyond caring for his teacher, if he’d ever felt anything for him at all. He wasn’t game to tell him that the sword was gone, and wondered why Dragonfire hadn’t asked to see it. What about the pirates? Shall I recruit a new crew?

No, the Crystal Rose is stashed to overflowing with riches should you care to use them. It is time to set me free, and for that we need the other sword. He grew silent for a moment, perhaps thinking about his dead lover again. I particularly liked that spell you cast over the pirate captain’s head. Despite your pain and weakness, you truly excelled yourself there.

Leonado regretted that too. So enraged that he should be felled by a simple soldier, he had taken his revenge the only way he knew, by making the King think Sir Alecsis had killed his brother instead of the pirate captain.

I think we should take care of the real Prince Dorban before we retrieve the sword, Dragonfire said. And then you shall kill your father, destroy the last mage alive with the power to bring down mountains.

Leonado groaned out loud in helpless frustration. So many mages had fought the red dragons, and now Leonado was being forced not only to undo his forefather’s good work, but to murder his own parent.

Poetic justice, young Leonado. Your father helped imprison me, and you shall set me free.

Never! Leonado cried in mental anguish. I’d rather die.

You’ll die when I have no more use for you, and not before. Dragonfire’s mind bore down on him, flooding his mind with pain. He tried to resist, but the agony became too great, too intense. Once again he was subjected to Dragonfire’s will.

Letting his frustration of being back under Darkfire’s control again get the better of him, Leonado groped for a convenient rock, and aimed it across the now dead fire. It found its mark, hitting the snoring man on the nose.

Howling indignantly, he sat up with a start. “Fire and Damnation...” he growled, rubbing a dirty, large-knuckled hand across his injured anatomy. Undoubtedly his nose would end up even bigger and redder than it already was. The little man didn’t possess one attractive feature. His face was mottled and fleshy, his gray hair receding, and his body stocky and barrel-chested. Stumpy arms and legs completed the picture of an overgrown dwarf. He even sprouted a curly gray beard that reached almost to the middle of his chest. He did have one redeeming feature however. He hated his appearance as much as Leonado did.

Despite the gloom, Leonado’s companion found the culprit, and aimed to throw it back at the young sorcerer.

“Don’t even think it, or I’ll cast an itching spell over you,” Leonado warned, raising his slender hands to start the incantation.

At the thought of having such an unpleasant spell cast over him, the fat man started scratching his groin. “Dammit Leo. Ye hardly need to. I’m sure this body is already cursed with some nasty disease,” he muttered. “Why d’ye wake me for anyway? Tisn’t even light.”

“Ye were snoring.”

“That be no reason to throw rocks. Ye never used to be so mean to me. There was a time when we were very close indeed.”

Leonado ignored the lustful look cast at him across the extinguished campfire. The mere thought of kissing that hairy, foul-breathed mouth made him feel like discarding his last meal. “That was before you jumped into that ugly body. As Krystos you were a very attractive man, but as Moreshe, ye seem to have inherited his whiny countenance.”

“Moreshe is dead. I killed him the moment I took over his mind,” the ex-pirate retorted indignantly. Moreshe had been a soldier in King Rostan’s army. Krystos’s spirit had discovered this much before evicting him and claiming his body as his own. “You and I both know which body I really had my sights on.”

Krystos still wondered how he had failed to invade the body of his choice after so rudely being ejected from his own. The more time he spent unanchored, the greater the risk of ending up as a spirit eternally at the whim of the Gods. Krystos had to admit that although he feared death, the prospect of floundering around without a host terrified him more. So he had taken the nearest victim after discovering Alecsis’s determination to remain firmly anchored in his own.

He simply couldn’t figure it out. Surely Darkfire’s hungry bite would have made the path easier for him. He knew he’d injured the knight. Darkfire had shuddered with glee, sending the pulse of pleasure back into Krystos’s body. But he’d only been nicked. Perhaps Alecsis’s tenacious grip on his own sword had protected him. Krystos could come up with no other explanation.

Alecsis had no idea who Krystos really was. Using his power on his most hated enemy would have been such sweet revenge. Krystos gnashed his teeth in anger and frustration. How dare he? he thought venomously. How dare he destroy the body I most treasured after my own! Krystos massaged his neck, recalling the horrible sensation of steel hacking through flesh.

Turning back to Leonado, he said, “As soon as I find a suitable candidate, I shall steal another body. Perhaps ye’d like to give me some indication of what would please ye this time.”

Leonado didn’t answer. He really didn’t care anymore.

“Look, I be as angry as ye that we didn’t succeed the first time,” Krystos continued. “But we will try again. Why can ye find no pleasure in that?”

“Why don’t ye tell me what went on between you and Sir Alecsis, why ye hate him so much,” Leonado suggested eventually.

But Krystos kept his mouth shut. That was his secret, his and Alecsis’s.

From her windowsill, Karina couldn’t help noticing how many men had fallen by the wayside. Seeing Sir Alecsis still leading them filled her with a tide of relief. How she had fretted, keeping herself awake night after night, worrying about his safety.

Ever since seeking counsel with Lorenso, her fears had compounded. Although he couldn’t foresee events, the palace magician could tune into the minds of the true believers, following their progress through his magic mirror. He had felt Sir Alecsis’s fear, knew of his injury, and the death of almost half his army. He sensed trouble ahead, danger that would not cease despite the slaying of Captain Krystos.

Sir Alecsis’s injuries hadn’t gone unnoticed by Karina either. Her heart knotted painfully on seeing the laboured way he dismounted from Windrider. She knew that a great deal of their journey had been spent on foot, due to the impenetrable nature of the dense northern forests. How many days had he walked in pain? Far too many to bear, she was sure.

Oh, how she loved this brave, pale warrior from beyond the Noiva. She longed to call out to him, rush from her tower into his powerful arms, but of course she had to wait until her father summoned her. She hoped she wouldn’t have to wait until the evening banquet, noting that none of the kitchen staff had entered the garden to collect vegetables and herbs. Karina couldn’t help wondering why celebratory preparations weren’t already under way.

She refused to wait any longer. Gathering her silk skirts about her, she hurried from her quarters. Nira sat by the opposite window of the outer chamber, darning the heel of her mistress’s stocking. Her maid was a pretty, dark-skinned girl, her thick ebony hair secured beneath the starched white scarf worn by all female serving staff. She wore a plain pale blue dress, the white collar marked with the two linked gold hearts which donated her as personal staff.

Nira’s liquid brown eyes smiled at Karina as she swept through the room. So in tune with her mistress’s needs, she placed her darning aside. “Ye want me to accompany you, mistress?” she asked.

“Nay, Nira. You finish off here.”

Nira bowed her head in acquiescence. She knew she would hear all about her mistress’s reunion with her betrothed later. Karina knew serving wenches learnt the art of flirting at a young age, and Nira had had enough suitors to know how to entice a man. Karina still marveled at her own forwardness, but had she left it up to Sir Alecsis, he would still be watching her from the shadows.

Karina left the outer chamber, and headed down the winding staircase. The castle seemed unusually quiet as Karina hurried along the shadowed halls. At this time of day, in the late afternoon, before the torches were lit, it possessed an eerie quality.

Mageye trotted towards her. The old dog was going blind, but he could still see better than most hounds. Shades of gray mingled with the honey-brown of his coat, and he now spent most of his time beside the fire in the kitchen. He had stopped accompanying Sir Alecsis on his missions long ago. Why court danger when a warm bed and good food were readily available?

She stopped to scratch him behind one floppy ear. When she continued down the hall, he trotted after her. The most likely place to find her father at this time of the day was his privy chamber. King Rostan liked to conduct business during the twilight hours, preferring to spend the morning sleeping.

Karina drew to a halt outside the curved wooden door of the privy chamber. The sound of voices raised in argument greeted her ears through the thick paneling. Responding to the grating noise, the dog barked once, and headed down the corridor in the direction of the kitchen, no doubt missing his warm hearth. The princess remained standing in front of the door for a moment, trying to listen to the cause of the argument, but all she heard was the screech of her father’s protests. Curiosity won, and she rapped her knuckles against the door.

“Come!” King Rostan answered at once.

Karina stepped into the chamber. The only furniture was a large oak desk and cluster of sturdy wooden chairs. A bookcase containing leather-bound volumes stood collecting dust between the two stained-glass windows. Karina often sat in on privy meetings, but was not permitted to contribute to the conversation. Even when the answer to a problem seemed blindingly obvious to her, she had to endure hours of arduous discussion that got the privy council nowhere.

Once a decision had been reached, it was presented at the official meetings for a formal vote. Neither of her brothers knew how to conduct a meeting, let alone implement a decision.

The king usually went along with whatever his chief advisers suggested. The three men Rostan relied on occupied their respective seats at the lower end of the table. Boran and Toran sat opposite one another, so Karina could only see her younger brother’s face. He looked utterly bewildered, but it was her father’s pacing about the room that surprised her. He never exerted himself unless it was absolutely necessary.

The only remaining chair had been placed behind the three councilors, and this was where Karina headed, but her father stepped in front of her.

“Karina. Just the person I want to see. I have some news for you.” He looked absolutely livid, his round face as red as a ripe tomato, cheeks puffing out like a pair of Blacksmith’s bellows.

“But we have not voted yet, your Highness,” Legion interrupted from his spot between the other two councilors. The chief adviser was a tall, imposing man, exuding more power than the king ever did. He had frightened Karina as a child, but as she grew older, she had come to respect Legion.

“We’ve debated this for two hours, and I say he goes to the block on the morrow. There will be no trial. In killing my brother he hath forfeited his right to a trial.”

“Ye know there are proper channels to follow,” Legion continued calmly.

“I am the king, am I not?” Rostan’s attempt at sarcasm didn’t affect the sallow-faced councilor. “And being the king means I am the ruler. I am the final decision maker, and if I decide to have a traitor beheaded, his head will roll.”

Karina couldn’t bear to wait until she was addressed again to ask her question. She stepped in front of her father, compelling him to halt his pacing.

“What happened, father?” she asked. Who had killed Prince Dorban, and why would Rostan not follow the proper procedures? Were their years of peace with their neighbouring province finally over? Something nagging in the back of her mind told her that Sir Alecsis had become embroiled in it. Why else did her father want to speak to her?

“What happened, my dear daughter, is that your dearly beloved, my so-called first night, has betrayed us in the worst possible way. Instead of killing the Pirate Krystos, he murdered my own brother...”

A sudden wave of dizziness hit Karina. The room spun, and she felt the floor tilt. Somehow she remained on her feet. Karina had never fainted in her life. Reason swept aside her shock and disbelief. It was a cruel mistake. Alecsis couldn’t have killed Prince Dorban. It had to be Captain Krystos. But why couldn’t her father see it? She started to tell him as much, but Boran interrupted. Karina had momentarily forgotten about her brother, and his sudden outburst made her gasp. Jumping from his seat, he faced his sister, his face a mask of pure hatred.

“He brought Dorban’s head back himself. He presented it to our father with pride in his evil, twisted heart,” the young prince cried.

“Surely he must have realized it would cost him his life,” Toran added.

“I’m sure he thinks he hath an immortal soul,” Boran sneered. “I told you not to trust him, father. Now do ye believe me?”

The king’s shoulders slumped, and he wiped a hand over his brow.

“Would you like to see the proof for yourself, little sister?” Boran hissed, walking towards the doorway behind the table that led to a large storage area and armoury. “’Tis not a pleasant sight.”

“Have you no honour?” Legion jumped to his feet, and stopped the young prince in his tracks. “Ye’ll show her nothing.”

“If it had been Krystos’s head, the entire town would have seen it on the morrow,” Boran spat. “Why should Karina not see her beloved barbarian’s handiwork?”

“He is not a barbarian!” Karina screamed. “And he didn’t kill Uncle Dorban. The pirate did. Are you all too blind to see that sorcery is at play here? Have any of you called Lorenso to examine the head? He will know if a spell was cast over it.”

She caught Legion’s gaze, and he nodded silently. “Another reason why we should call a trial,” the counselor said. “An innocent man could be going to his death - ”

“He’s not innocent!” Rostan yelled. “Such powerful magic can no longer be wielded, and we both know Alecsis was never trained as a mage.” He waved his hands towards the door. “Everybody out! My decision is final. At dawn, the man we’ve known as Sir Alecsis dies. Now leave me.” He started propelling people towards the door, and Karina, pressed between Boran and Legion, had no choice but to leave with them.

He can’t die, she vowed, her heart tying itself into painful knots. There must be something I can do. Gathering her skirts together, she hurried down the hall, seeking out the only person she knew with the power to save Alecsis; Lorenso, the spell-binder

The rooms directly above the dungeon possessed no windows, and were as dark and damp as the endless catacombs beneath the castle. Lorenso kept his chambers lit by fat torches set at regular intervals along the walls. His work was often fine and fiddly, requiring intense concentration and a good eye. For this he needed plenty of light. He could have secured better accommodation within the castle walls, but he craved silence and privacy. Few people dared venture down the dark, narrow stairs that led to his domain.

Karina hurried down the winding staircase, as always keeping close to the wall. She knew if she continued further, she would find her beloved. How she longed to keep going past Lorenso’s laboratory, and force the dungeon master to free him. But Karina had met Noron, and knew him to be a vile creature indeed. Not only did he look evil, with his fat, scarred body, but he exuded an aura of malevolence. She feared for Alecsis in that dreadful man’s care. Noron had no qualms about torturing the dungeon’s inhabitants. Alecsis, in his already weakened state, would suffer greatly from the dungeon master’s cruel punishments.

“Oh Alecsis,” she sighed. “Why did ye go? Lorenso and I knew it would end badly.” She let the wave of dejection wash over her, then squared her shoulders. She couldn’t permit misery to take hold of her now. Alecsis depended on her. Who else had the determination to set him free? No one but she seemed to care about him. They only wanted to see him suffer, to make him pay for a crime his good and pure heart would never have allowed him to commit.

She reached for the large iron knocker attached to Lorenso’s heavy oak door, and thumped it once against the wood. After a moment’s silence, she banged it again, harder and louder this time.

Still no answer.

Please be here, she prayed. I don’t want to have to search the palace grounds for you. I need your help like I’ve never needed it before.

Finally the latch clicked, and the door swung inwards with an eerie groan. Lorenso never opened it in person, allowing his mind to do it for him. This meant Karina often had to seek him out through the maze of benches covered in bubbling, hissing and clicking contraptions.

Wooden shelves lined the walls, some containing volumes, others jars full of strange looking objects. The words to his spells fascinated her. She could sit and listen to him quote the magic poetry all day. Coupled with flowing hand-motions to enhance the flow of mana, it didn’t surprise her that a magician’s apprentice needed half a lifetime to learn the art of spell-binding.

Today the laboratory was silent. Nothing bubbled and boiled. No noxious smells snuck up on her as she headed past the long tables. Lorenso didn’t appear to be in residence, either.

Tentatively she called his name.

“Over here, my dear,” came the muffled response. She followed the sound through the outer chamber, her eyes adjusting to the brightness of the numerous burning torches. She stepped carefully. Sometimes buckets sat on the floor, waiting to spill their bizarre contents over her slippers.

She found Lorenso seated on one of the numerous embroidered cushions in his meditation chamber. This room was no larger than a storage area, only lit by a few candles on the floor. At its centre stood an oval mirror tilted towards the magician. Giilt edged, with its base set in solid gold, it looked fit for a queen. But it was no ordinary looking glass. After reciting the appropriate incantation, Lorenso could witness events taking place many leagues away.

The magician didn’t gaze into the glass now. Nothing shimmered behind its surface. The only thing it reflected was the elderly wizard’s dejected expression. With his hunched shoulders and sad eyes, Karina knew instantly that he was troubled by the same dilemma that bothered her. As usual his long hair hung in a braid down his back, almost the same shade of gray as his cloak. He patted the cushion beside his. “Join me, child.”

Karina did as he bade, and rearranged her long skirts about her.

“So tragic that it should come to this,” the old wizard muttered without looking up. “Yer father is a foolish man, a very foolish man.”

“You know what he’s done then?”

“I be certain everyone knows what he hath done by now. Sir Alecsis is by far the best warrior this country has ever seen. How could Rostan treat him so abysmally?”

“So you believe it wasn’t Uncle Dorban’s head they brought back?”

“I know it wasn’t Dorban’s head. He lives. I saw him safe and sound within the walls of his keep.” He motioned towards the mirror with one slender, age spotted hand. Through the glass, he had watched Alecsis and his army’s progress through the jungle, and the young knight’s fight with Krystos.

“Then we must save Alecsis from the executioner’s axe. We cannot let an innocent man die!” Karina glanced from the wizard’s profile to the mirror, seeing the dark circles around his sunken brown eyes. He looked more worried than she had ever seen him. She knew if Lorenso was this concerned, then the situation was desperate indeed.

“I know. I know. I have pondered deeply on it, and know I must wield some powerful magic. But I am so tired... If only my son had not left me...”

“Perhaps he’ll return some day,” Karina reassured.

“If he does it won’t be as my son...” He finally looked up, meeting Karina’s concerned gaze. His eyes were shadowed and full of regret. She thought she saw tears threatening to escape, but then he wiped a hand across his brow, returning his dark eyes to their usual intensity. “He hath turned to the other side. I felt it during Alecsis and Krystos’s battle... I felt him there.”

Karina’s eyes widened in shock. She clearly remembered the day Lorenso’s son disappeared. He had just turned sixteen, and after stealing some of his father’s most treasured volumes, he’d fled in the middle of the night on one of the King’s finest stallions. Luckily Lorenso had committed most of the incantations to memory, but for weeks he had been in the darkest of moods.

The flight of the magician’s son had saddened the young princess. He had been her only playmate, as neither of her brothers had wanted a curious little girl tagging along. But Leonado had been quite content to let her join him in his jaunts around the palace grounds, where he often played pranks on the serving staff. Some had verged on the dangerous, but Leonado had only seen the funny side of people falling into dung piles and getting locked in the cellar. Maturity and level-headedness was required to wield spells effectively, and Leonado possessed neither. Karina’s brothers had called him a brat, and at times she’d been inclined to believe them, but to fall to the dark side…

“A- are you sure Leonado was there?” she asked eventually.

Lorenso nodded solemnly. “I detected the presence of a powerful sorcerer, remember? Of course he dared not show himself through the glass, but I sensed ‘twas him, Leonado, my traitorous son...” Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and continued.

“Whether the pirate captain corrupted him, or the propensity for darkness was already there, I know not,” he continued. “But Leonado cast the spell over the severed head. He is responsible for Alecsis languishing below.”

“But were not all the pirates killed, including the mage that aided and abetted them?”

Lorenso slowly shook his wise head. “I spoke with young Antano not long ago, and he told me that he shot a poisoned arrow into Leonado’s body. He even spoke of him by name, but then I remembered that I never felt his mind-power falter. He is still out there, maimed perhaps, but I fear working with the pirates was only the beginning.”

It took a moment for Karina to digest the news of her long lost playmate turning into an evil sorcerer. How had it happened? What could he possibly hope to gain by it? This formed her next question. “If he wanted to learn the arts, why did he not stay here and study with you? A palace magician at least holds a position of power.”

“I have oft’ wondered that myself,” Lorenso sighed. “The only conclusion I can come up with is that my way would have taken him too long. He is barely nineteen. He would still be in training were he here with me. No doubt impatient for knowledge, he sought the easier path, through evil means. Magicians are no longer respected. Most people are wary of us. Some even fear us. Leonado, it seems, wants to fuel that fear.”

“But does that not go completely against Makim’s teachings? Magic is meant to be used to heal, to protect, not as a tool of power.”

“Try telling Serpon that. He has no scruples, and neither, it seems, doth my son.” The mage sighed again, then with determination, clenched a fist. “I must find him, must save his soul ere ‘tis too late...” He unclenched his hand, letting it drop to his side. “And for this I need Alecsis. He now knows the quickest route north. We must first travel to Prince Dorban’s court and get the proof your father needs - ”

“Can you not reverse the spell on the head? Would this not be easier?” Karina interrupted, something she didn’t often do in Lorenso’s presence.

“Nay, I know not the nature of the spell. I have very little knowledge of evil incantations...”

“So you will rescue Sir Alecsis?”

“Aye. As soon as night sets in. Then we must be on our way. Antano will be the only one to accompany us. No one else must know. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Karina affirmed, realizing suddenly that their escape was not meant to include her. “I want to come too. I won’t let Alecsis leave me again.”

The magician met her wide, determined eyes. She could see he didn’t want to do this. “Nay, you cannot. Your presence will only distract him - ”

“T’would distract him more leaving me behind. He only embarked on this mission so he could be with me. He would not want to be parted from me again.”

Lorenso turned and placed both his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to meet his grave gaze. “T’is too dangerous for you, my dear.”

“If Sir Alecsis dies, then I want to die too. I can ride as well as any man. I know how to use a knife to defend myself. I have knowledge of herbs and spices which would be useful in the forest. I be no weakling!”

“Nay Karina. My word is final. If all goes well, you will see Sir Alecsis again. His heart will be with you. Knowing you await his return will spur him on as it did before.”

Colour stained Karina’s cheeks, and she stamped her foot in temper. “Not this time, Lorenso!”

He clasped her hands in his, their age-roughened hardness reminding her of how gentle and soothing Alecsis’s were in comparison. Recalling his touch increased her resolve. “I’m coming with you. Ye’ll not leave me behind.”

He sighed. “I’ll slow them down enough as it is, even with my magical abilities... My word is final, Karina. Ye must stay here where ‘tis safe.”

She opened her mouth to protest once more, but quickly closed it again. Lorenso would never weaken. Once he had made up his mind about something, there was no changing it. She had to think of some other way of getting around him.