Free War of Shadows by Gail Z. Martin Page B

Carensa. McFadden is only valuable until Vigus can figure out how to keep the magic bound without him.” He paused. “At least Vigus has a reason to keep McFadden alive. Others might find it to their advantage if he—and the magic—went away permanently.”
    Late that night, Carensa’s dreams were dark.
Once again, she was pinned beneath the rubble of Rhystorp, surrounded by the smell of fire and death. Grief seized her, but she had no tears left to cry. She was resigned to dying alone in the darkness, numb to fear. And then, after she had accepted her fate, the stones that sealed her into her prison shifted, sending light and air and, most importantly, hope. Vigus Quintrel had spoken to her, calmed her, kept up a quiet, confident one-sided conversation until he could remove her from the wreckage
.
    But in this dream, Quintrel was livid, and in his grasp was the orb, with its withered hand and bound
divi.
He held the orb aloft, and it blazed like lightning, filling the sky with green ribbons of fire. Quintrel and the
divi
became the Cataclysm
.
    Screams woke her. Carensa sat upright in her bed, clutching the covers to her chest, heart thudding. Before she could question whether the screams were real or imagined, she heard the shrieking once again. Worried, Carensa hurriedly wrapped herself in her robe and gathered her slippers, rushing out intothe corridor. More mages began to appear in their doorways. Many quickly retreated, shutting their doors again. A few ventured into the corridor, but hung back, wary.
    She found Vigus Quintrel in his sitting room, tearing at his hair, ripping his clothing, and screaming curses like a madman. He hurled a vase across the room, barely missing Guran and Esban, who had edged into the room.
    Carensa maneuvered close. Once, they had been friends as well as tutor and student. It was dangerous to trade on that old bond, but Carensa hoped that it might help her calm Quintrel long enough to discover what had gone so terribly wrong.
    “Vigus.” Carensa moved closer to where Quintrel sat. A tankard sailed over her head, slamming against the far wall. “Vigus, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”
    Quintrel threw an inkwell against the stone fireplace, sending a spray of ink across the room. “They’re gone,” he said, breathing heavily.
    “Who’s gone?” Carensa asked. “The Knights? But you knew they were going.”
    Quintrel shook his head disconsolately. “No, no,” he moaned. “They’re all gone.”
    “Vigus, who’s gone?” Carensa pressed, close enough now that she laid her hand on Quintrel’s arm. He looked utterly distraught.
    Quintrel turned to her, a look of complete misery and loss clear in his expression. “The presence-crystals. And the manuscripts that go with them. Gone, stolen.”

CHAPTER
FOUR

    I ’VE ARRANGED FOR A MEETING WITH FOLVILLE IN public; hopefully, he’ll swear his fealty to you,” Niklas said. It was after eighth bells, and they were gathered in the parlor once more. Dagur and the mages had gone back to their work, reluctantly taking Treven Lowrey with them.
    Blaine stood near the fire, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Piran was sprawled on a divan, while Kestel watched from the window, looking beyond the castle walls into the darkened streets of the city.
    Blaine looked to Niklas. “Right now, I feel like I ‘need’ to be in at least three places at once,” he said. “Can you spare the soldiers for Kestel and me to ride into Castle Reach?”
    Niklas nodded. “If you’re going to be lord of your land, not to mention a warlord, your people need to see you in the forefront. Makes them less likely to follow an upstart who wants to make trouble.”
    “I’ll work with Niklas, Mick, if it takes a load off your mind,” Piran said.
    “It might lessen Mick’s worry, but what about Niklas?” Kestel jibed.
    Piran ignored her. “Don’t forget—we’ve got Geir and the other
talishte
soldiers, who can make a big difference in getting the castle