Free The Turquoise Tower (Revenant Wyrd Book 6) by Travis Simmons Page A

and wrist were wyrded in such a way as to stop the flow of wyrd through her body. She didn’t know the implications; would she start aging? The last time she’d been under arrest for the use of her alarist powers, the bands had caused her to age. It was a small secret among wyrders that certain things could make a sorcerer appear older than they were: too many close calls to what would cause a mortal death; other wyrding; corrupt wyrd worked for too long; and certain kinds of imprisonment.
    These bands were similar to the ones that had aged her in the past, before she had turned over a new leaf and given herself back to the Goddess.
    A gentle breeze played through her short black hair, and she let the wind carry away the worries of the day. But as her mind drifted, she couldn’t help but feel the pulse of alarist wyrd within her. She had tapped into something old and dark during the battle with the chaos dwarves. Something she hadn’t used in ages, but had to call upon for help when nothing else would save her people. Now the power was with her again, calling to her, throbbing through her body like a lover’s touch. If she listened closely enough, she could almost hear the power whispering through her mind with the perverse language of Chaos. It reminded her of screams, of thousands of tormented cries for help.
    It made her blood run cold.
    The thought of the Guardian’s Keep made her think of her family. Her mind turned to her husband and her children, and the danger she faced. Never had Mag thought they would have to live without her, being a sorceress and all, but with what had happened today. . .
    Her eyes drifted to the destroyed bazaar, and though she couldn’t see it from this vantage point, she tried to find the place where they’d pulled Dalah and Rosalee out of the wreckage. The accident had made very real the danger they were all facing.
    Against her will, her eyes also traveled to the places she could see where the darklight-forged rubble had landed around the city. A tremble crept up her back. Never before had her wyrd worked against her like that. Even when the Well of Wyrding had been corrupted, she hadn’t had to face the threat of her alarist power coming out.
    But now she was facing something she’d never thought she would, after starting her new life and turning her back on her old ways: death. True death for a sorcerer. Beheading. Suddenly the iron band around her throat felt heavier, like the blade of an executioner’s axe.
    Her husband was a sorcerer, but only one of their three children were. The heartbreak of being a sorcerer parent was watching your child grow old and die.
    Mag sighed, and tried to push the troubled thought away. Dark thoughts allowed the alarist power she had reawakened a tighter hold on her. The darkness of the power would feed off her need, off her despair, and offer promises of things it could never make good on. And then you were addicted.
    The work crews were toiling away at the bazaar, even in this late hour, shouting commands and floating large chunks of debris out of the way with wyrd. But as she watched, a shadow grew in her mind. She could see it out of her peripheral vision, down in the street. At first she didn’t pay it any attention, but as the darkness in her mind grew, her alarist wyrd responded.
    Her first thought was Wyrders’ Bane, but Angelica and Jovian had transmuted that. No, this was different.
    Lazily she let her gaze drift to the darkness, and when her eyes fell upon the figure, swathed in black, her heart knew fear. There was something familiar there, something reaching out to her from her past.
    The tortured screams Mag had come to associate with her darklight wyrd echoed into her mind. Underneath the tormented cries was the perverse, twisted language of Chaos, calling out to her blood, infusing her with power.
    Mag closed her eyes and started to pray, willing the power of the Goddess to protect her, but if there was any answer, Mag didn’t