Free King's Folly (Book 2) by Sabrina Flynn Page B

shallow basin. His armor scraped against rock and he appeared nervous.
    The Wise Ones’ Lore was simply a path, one among many, that led to the Sylph’s Gift. The Blessed Order, barbarian Shamans, and Mystics all had their own unique discipline. Runes, however, were the most proficient way to channel the Gift, or so the Wise Ones claimed.
    Marsais had once told her, never to be repeated, that Bloodmagi used a mixture of energies, including the Sylph’s Gift. Life was like a powerful river from which good, evil, and everything between drank. Anyone could dip his hand into Life’s current, but what a being used the water for was an entirely different matter. And sitting opposite of this great river of Life, was the Void—everything opposite.
    Curiosity overcame her apprehension. Isiilde strayed over to the paladin, watching him perform his Order’s ritual. Rivan withdrew a slender stone from his belt pouch and bowed his head, whispering unfamiliar words in an undertone. When his prayer to the divine was complete, he placed the stone into the water. The stone floated to the top and began to glow with a pure light, not unlike the one that had radiated from the captain’s shield.
    The stone exchanged light for soot. The glow suffused the shallow pool, and when it died, the stone was covered with filth. Rivan plucked it out of the water, cupped it in the palm of his hands, and bowed his head again. A searing light illuminated his features. His hair was brown and clipped, and his skin was touched by the sun. When he raised his head a second time, the stone was clean. He slipped it into his pouch, and looked over at her with surprise.
    Isiilde smiled. “That was beautiful.”
    Rivan’s skin darkened. “The water is clean now. It’s only a simple ritual.”
    A sharp burst of emotion passed between her bond with Marsais. She glanced at him in confusion, not quite knowing what to make of it. His steely eyes flickered between her and Rivan and then away. She recognized anger, and it left her puzzled, but before she could question Marsais, Lucas interrupted.
    “How long do we have until Tharios releases Karbonek, Seer?” The scarred paladin was sitting on a rock, sharpening the edge of his longsword with a stone.
    “The Shadowed Dawn,” Marsais replied, turning his back to the group, staring down at the valley.
    “And how do you know this?”
    “You asked.” He waved a vague hand.
    “That’s only two months away,” said Acacia. “Not near enough time to make the return journey, either by sea or land.”
    “We’ll have to inform the High Inquisitor. Can you send a message, Seer?”
    “I could, but are you entirely sure you can trust the High Inquisitor?”
    “Blasphemy!”
    Marsais ignored the fuming lieutenant, turning instead, to Acacia. She said nothing, confirming what Marsais had long suspected. High Inquisitor Multist was as corrupt as they came, and she had replaced the former Knight Captain for a reason. Marsais returned to his survey, clasping hands behind his back in silent thought.
    Lucas started to rise, but Oenghus grabbed his arm. “Leave it. You don’t want to disturb the Scarecrow when he’s like that, trust me.”
    For a moment, Isiilde thought the ill-tempered paladin would strike Oenghus, but he glanced at Marsais, perhaps recalling his duel with the Hound, and sat back down.
    The undercurrents rippling beneath the group left her confused, but above all, wary.
    “A message from a Whisperer can be intercepted, or so I’ve heard,” explained Oenghus. “You can be sure that Tharios and his followers are waiting for a message. And we don’t know who we can trust on the Isle.”
    “Can Tharios open a Gateway to Vaylin, to the valley, using the Stave?” Acacia asked.
    Oenghus shrugged. “I only know the Stave by legend—didn’t know it could open one at all.”
    “We better get moving,” Marsais said abruptly. Without waiting for the others, he struck off, long legs carrying him rapidly