Free Trail Of The Torean (Book 2) by Ron Collins Page A

reported.”
    “We
both
assumed it was a possibility.”
    Zutrian gave him a gracious nod.
    “Who is this Torean?” Ettril asked.
    “His name is Garrick—once apprenticed to Alistair, a Torean who fell during one of our assassination runs.”
    “But we gave orders to take all apprentices?”
    Zutrian shrugged to hide his annoyance at the question. He was tired of having to lead the Koradictine through these simple logics.
    “Garrick apparently had the good fortune to be away during the raid.”
    “We need to take care of this.”
    “My thoughts exactly.”
    “Do you have a plan?”
    “Of course I have a plan. That’s what I do all day. I sit here in my war room and I plan for what will happen next. Perhaps it is a Lectodinian thing.”
    The Koradictine did not rise to the bait.
    “What are you thinking?”
    “Garrick appears to be travelling toward Arderveer. I think we should divert our armies to that city.”
    The Koradictine furrowed his bushy brow. “I think it is too early to deal with Takril.”
    “Sometimes life takes unexpected paths.”
    “Jormar and Parathay have not yet captured all of the western half of the plane.”
    “That is true,” Zutrian replied. “But our forces are progressing better than we planned. I suggest we leave our god-touched mages to finish their efforts, but direct each to send half their army to Arderveer.”
    “Half an army each? Will that be enough to take a god-touched mage?”
    “A full army fronting a collection of mages of proper strength should suffice. Garrick is only an apprentice, after all. If we take him now, we can keep it that way.”
    Ettril nodded, contemplating.
    “All right,” he finally said. “It’s worth the risk to eliminate the Torean before he becomes a larger problem. Let me take it to my planners. I will respond this evening.”
    “Until then,” Zutrian replied.
    The Koradictine’s face faded from the circle, leaving behind a cloying mist of blood-tinged steam.

Chapter 15

    They burned the bodies.
    Black smoke curled into the sky, reminding Garrick of the dragons in his nightmares. He felt uneasy for another reason, too. Sjesko’s power was nearly gone, and the cold reality of the moment lay against his conscience like a firm dagger’s edge. When this power was spent, Garrick would feed again.
    He watched Darien’s preparations. There was an air of professionalism about him, a spareness to his movements that spoke of experience. His past with Dorfort's guard was obvious now, so obvious that Garrick didn’t know how he had missed it before.
    Sunathri attached her bedroll to her saddle, then came to him, her eyes on fire with the day’s early light. This was it. She was going to press him to join her order, and he would have to tell her no.
    He saw no way to avoid it.
    “We should have paid more attention to Elman,” she said.
    “He’s just one mage,” Garrick replied.
    “He knows where you are now, so you can be sure the rest of the orders will know, too.”
    “Why would they care about an apprentice?”
    “Don’t pretend, Garrick.”
    “I’m not pretending. My superior never triggered me. I am just an apprentice.”
    Sunathri smirked. “Have you heard the phrase ‘god-touched’?”
    “No,” Garrick lied.
    Her expression sharpened, and she glanced toward Darien. “You?”
    Darien shrugged. “Can’t say that I have.”
    “A god-touched mage is a thing of great power,” she replied. “It’s a thing of beauty in many ways, but terrible in others. They are aligned with planewalkers, so their magic is greater than others. It comes from connections to them.”
    Leaves rustled in the mountain wind. A horse nickered with impatience. An embarrassed heat rose through Garrick’s chest and into his cheeks.
    “That sounds somewhat familiar,” Darien said, giving Garrick a wry grin.
    Sunathri snapped at him. “Beware of taking this too lightly, Darien. This clash of the orders and the Toreans may look to the world as if it