But why would Lariana be deceiving him? Why would she not be entirely honest? She had been until now. Hadn’t she? He pursed his lips. He was troubled enough that he had to scratch this particular itch.
“Does she speak for you on this?” he asked the boy.
He nodded quickly. “She does.”
“And you were able to bring these images to life, to give them the appearance of flesh and blood, to move them like living creatures?”
“Until I grew tired. But I will try again in the morning, after I’ve slept and rested a bit. I was starting to make mistakes at the end, small lapses that let the image fail. My control was slipping.”
Arcannen got to his feet. “I don’t think we should wait that long. I think we should test your control now, while the experience is fresh. I might be able to help you with any difficulties. Sort out the small things that might trouble you later.”
The boy and the girl did not look at each other, their eyes fixed on him. “It’s awfully dark out there,” Lariana said finally.
“We can light things up,” the sorcerer told them. He smiled. “Come along.”
They departed the room, went down the hallway to the entry leading out into the ruins, threw on fresh cloaks against the weather, and went outside. The darkness was complete, the clouds having closed away every last vestige of moonlight, the rain falling in heavy sheets, and the wind howling mournfully across the barren rocks. They could just make out the sheen of slick dampness that layered the rubble beyond their doorstep in the faint light cast by the opening of the door to the outside. Lariana and the boy, leading the way, stood in the opening uncertainly.
“A good challenge for your talents, Reyn,” Arcannen shouted at him in order to be heard over the wind. “We might see more of this weather before it has blown itself out.”
He watched the boy closely. No reaction. Just a blank stare. The girl was the same. But he sensed an uneasiness between them nevertheless. Not everything was as it appeared on the surface.
“Let’s cast a little light on the situation,” he said to them.
A quick flick of his fingers brought fire to his fingertips, and a series of quick snaps of his wrists sent sparks out into the rain and the dark. Wellsprings of flames erupted suddenly on the damp rocks and burned as if fueled by dry wood. Sheets of rain formed hazy curtains in front of these magically generated sources, but there was light now where there had been none before.
“All right, step outside. Let’s see what you can do.”
He gestured for Reyn to proceed, and after a moment’s hesitation the boy did as he was told. Rain pummeled him as he advanced into the open space between the fires. Lariana started to follow him, but Arcannen grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“Let’s see what he can do without our interference,” he told her, bending close.
She gave him an irritated look, but stepped back. “You’re putting an awful lot on him, don’t you think?”
Her willingness to challenge him caught him by surprise. “I think it is my business to make that decision and not yours.”
Together, they watched the boy move out into the center of the circle of flaming stones, standing alone in the rain and the near darkness, shoulders hunched beneath the all–weather cloak, head lowered inside the shadowed hood. For a long time, he stood motionless, a vague figure within the sheeting rain. He appeared to be doing nothing, but Arcannen assumed he was concentrating.
Nothing happened.
Then, abruptly, a singular figure appeared to one side–a huge misshapen creature covered in hair and spikes, a nightmare come alive, rising up out of the broken carpet of stones as if born of them, all size and bulk. It heaved itself upward to its full height of well over eight feet and turned toward the boy. The boy, in response, turned to face it, standing his ground as he did so, watching as the creature advanced in a shambling lurch. He waited until the creature was within a dozen feet, then he swung his gaze toward Arcannen. The creature, as if responding to this movement, changed direction abruptly and started toward the sorcerer.
“Isn’t that something,” Arcannen said softly, aware of the girl moving away from him, distancing herself.
He kept his eyes on the creature. He hadn’t heard even the faintest sound of the wishsong over the wind and rain, hadn’t caught even a shadow of movement from the boy. He peered through the rain and the gloom, picking out the creature’s blunted, twisted features, noting the threatening glint in its eyes, measuring the nature of the threat it offered. He smelled its stench, raw and pungent; he could hear its shambling movements through the rain. It was only an image, he told himself. Yet it felt like something more. It moved as if it had substance. For all intents and purposes, it felt as if it could crush him with its massive arms if it got hold of him. He could hear it breathing now, could see puffs of breath on the cold air as it drew closer.
“That’s enough, Reyn,” he called out, eyes riveted on the creature.
But the boy did not respond. The creature continued to advance, close enough now that it was blocking out several of the fires behind it. Its clawed hands flexed and its maw widened to reveal huge canines.
“Reyn!” Arcannen snapped, angry now. “Dispatch it or I will!”
In the next instant the creature fragmented in a cluster of darkness and became bits and pieces floating in the wind. A moment later it was gone entirely. Arcannen found himself exhaling in relief.
The boy turned to him. “Good enough?” he asked.
It wasn’t a challenge exactly, wasn’t meant as an angry response, so the sorcerer didn’t take it that way. What it felt like instead was a sigh of relief, a sort of expression of satisfaction at having done what was expected and without giving way to anything that might have caused matters to go awry. But sending the creature directly toward him was a statement, too–a demonstration of the extent the boy could control the magic of his gift. Arcannen had ordered him to find a way to take charge of the wishsong rather than the other way around, and the boy had felt the need to show exactly how far he had come in managing to do this.
Lariana was at his elbow again. “What do you say to that?” she asked softly.
He smiled in spite of himself. “I say you have done your job well.”
But something still felt wrong, and he was determined to find out what it was.
NINETEEN
MIDNIGHT HAD COME AND GONE BY THE TIME THE HEAVILY armed dual–masted flare cruiser had crossed out of the coastal range and begun the slow sweep downward toward the shores of the Tiderace and the ruins of Arbrox. Mallich stood at the helm, maintaining a slow, steady pace through storm winds and heavy rains, his vision considerably lessened since leaving behind the clear skies on the western expanses they had flown through earlier. He wore his all–weather cloak with the hood raised to keep off as much of the rain as was possible, although after several hours of an unceasing downpour he was already soaked through. He peered ahead through the gloom and the emptiness toward the shores of the ocean, hoping his compass had kept him on track to find their destination.
Below him, seated on opposite sides of the ship’s main deck, were Bael Etris and The Hammer, huddled within their cloaks to ward off the damp and chill as best they could. The former, small and malleable, was barely visible, not much more than a motionless shadow pressed against the railing. The latter, huge and thick, was difficult to miss. They didn’t care much for each other, these two, and neither had done anything to try to change that since they had set sail. They were not airmen and of no help at all in the flying of the ship. They could fetch and carry, but tried their best to avoid doing so. Mallich took some comfort in knowing that their real use would come later when the search for Arcannen began. He had given thought to enlisting crewmen, which would have eased his workload, but in the end had decided that keeping this venture quiet was more important. He found himself questioning that decision now.