“This wizard business frustrates me,” Ronan said, his eyes catching the glint of silver in the distance. So that’s where that dragon was. He lifted a hand and waved, chuckling when the dragon lifted his head and stared at him before turning to retreat farther away.
“In her defense, she was only trying to help.” Fiona brought his gaze back to her.
“I know,” Ronan groaned. “But she knows I’m not really angry with her. I do not need to explain myself to her.”
“I’ve noticed,” Fiona murmured looking away from him.
“What’s this?” He reached forward to catch her chin so he could turn her face back toward him. “You are jealous?”
“I’m not the only one.” Fiona lifted her chin then jerked her head back toward the campsite. “Everyone notices the bond you have with her. Arien is constantly in competition for your attention.”
“Is he? I hadn’t noticed.” Ronan smiled. “And you? Are you in competition for my attention?”
Fiona met his gaze then shrugged. “Perhaps a bit.”
“What kind of attention?” Ronan pressed.
“Whatever you can spare, I imagine.” She shrugged again, appearing a bit embarrassed.
“Ah, I’m sorry Fiona. So that I know the next time, what do you do to win my attention?” Ronan asked softly and then blinked when she lifted her hand, revealing the two small nubs that were growing into new fingers. He tried not to smile and failed considerably, then gave in and laughed.
“Perhaps I’m a bit daft,” he admitted.
“Just a bit,” she retorted.
“I’ll try to do better. Spread my attention equally among the six of you,” Ronan vowed and Fiona smiled as she let her hand drop back to his arm. “I’ll not have my band of odd companions feel neglected.”
“Odd?” Fiona echoed and Ronan laughed again.
“A serpentine, sorceress, thief changeling, centaur, and sarcastic rancher isn’t exactly what I would immediately think of when hearing that a group was carrying The King’s Sword to Merisgale.” Ronan grinned.
“Don’t forget the stone wizard cannibal,” she said pointedly. “Claiming only to be a blacksmith the entire way.”
“I am a blacksmith. A very good one,” Ronan defended himself. “The rest is a bit harder to digest.”
“Than what? My fingers?” She raised a brow. “It is a wonderful thing to be a wizard. I don’t understand why it frightens you so much.”
“It’s the magic,” Ronan said after a moment. “When I was very young my father said that anything magic was evil. My mother and I never told him of the gifts we discovered I had. We kept it a secret and I never practiced any kind of magic in the house.”
“Oh, Ronan,” Fiona breathed.
“I had a friend, a changeling, that my father forbade me to see. He caught us fishing one morning when I was twelve. He beat us both and sent my friend home. Egle never spoke to me again.” Ronan closed his eyes. “My mother told me that he would be dangerous if he ever found out that I was a wizard. She made me swear never to use my magic again. Though I did perform little tricks as a teenager I never did anything that looked like I was using more than a magician’s illusion.”
Fiona said nothing but kept her hand on his arm.
“I let her die. She would not let me use my magic to even save her life. She starved to death after my father died. We had no one to provide for us and I wasn’t a very good blacksmith at seventeen.” Ronan swallowed loudly past the lump in his throat as he recalled his mother’s death. “She died in that room. Just withered away.”
“Ronan,” Fiona’s whisper was filled with compassion as she leaned forward and embraced him. She held him gently and for a moment he resisted her comfort. But slowly he relaxed and lowered his head to her shoulder. He allowed her to console him. No one had ever done so before. When his mother died he was left alone with no one to let him speak his misery. He’d swallowed it and buried himself in his work, vowing to become the best blacksmith possible.
“The River Blanch opened that wound. Ula held my hand when it did. Something happened that day between she and I. There was an understanding between us. Somehow she knew my pain and although I can’t recall having seen what the river showed her, I know hers.” Ronan spoke against her shoulder, tears stinging his eyes. “That is why we have such a bond.” He prayed desperately that Ula was not the one who betrayed him.
“She is doing what she does best.” Fiona’s voice was filled with realization. “She is healing you.” Ronan lifted his face and stared at Fiona.
“Little by little, I suppose she is,” he said feeling suddenly free. “And so have you. By just letting me put the pain into words.”
“Not just words,” Fiona corrected, stoking the hair of his head. “We joined, Ronan. You defied your father’s wishes and did not have to face his wrath.”
Ronan blinked. He hadn’t even considered that. Lowering his head to her shoulder again, he sighed.
Perhaps, he could be a blacksmith and a wizard.
Fourteen
Making the Johran huts disappear proved a much more difficult task than manifesting them. After several attempts, Ronan’s frustration showed itself in his magic, leaving the three small huts in shambles. He frowned at the mounds of earth, wood, and dry grass.
“I know!” Arien snapped his fingers. “Maybe you could make the ground just swallow up the huts now!” Ronan clamped his mouth closed to keep from snapping at the boy. He was only trying to help. Mikel the Hort rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“No, that would require a hole that he might not be able to fill.” Mikel stepped forward, eyeing the mounds thoughtfully. “We must think positive magic, not negative.”
“He must learn to do it anyway,” Ula argued. “I mean he can’t go around performing magic without cleaning up behind himself.” She looked at the changeling when he shook his head.
“You encouraged him to do something large like this. Now we are set back hours when we should have left at dawn.” Mikel the Hort dismissed her from his gaze. “He should start smaller and then work his way to something so large as he masters the magic.”
Ronan nodded in agreement with the changeling.
“He made the cottage disappear and it was much bigger than these huts,” Arien defended Ula loyally.
“Not by will. It was an emotional outburst that caused him to take away the cottage. Nothing that he consciously willed,” Mikel said and Ronan nodded, not liking the way they were talking about him as if he were not even there.
“Well, we can’t just leave it here.” Ula pressed her lips together. Mikel the Hort stepped closer to the mounds, eyes sweeping over them thoughtfully. Ronan could almost see the little wheels in his head turning.
“Send the dirt back to Johran in the form of huts. Set them on the outer parts of the village with a note to Yarro saying the huts belong to you for you to use as you need to.” Mikel glanced up at Ronan, “That way you can summon them to you when we stop for camp again.”
“That is an excellent plan,” Ula agreed nodding. “And doesn’t require vanishing them to thin air.”
“But how will I know if I send them to the right place?” Ronan wasn’t so sure.
Mikel spoke again, “Ask that Yarro mark the note once he’s read it. Then, when you summon the huts again and if he’s made his mark, you can practice your negative magic on making the letter disappear. And without creating so much of a mess.”
Ronan stared down at the little changeling. “You are a clever little thief.” Mikel beamed and nodded in agreement.
Ronan closed his eyes and conjured a picture of the Johran village in his mind. He willed the huts back together and set them just outside the village by imagining them there. With an invisible hand on a piece of paper he left a short note to Yarro on the door of the middle hut.
Taking a breath, he opened his eyes and found that the mounds of dirt were gone. “I pray it worked.”