Free Children of Fire by Drew Karpyshyn Page A

common to the nomad tribes living along the Western Seas’ southernmost shores.
    The hood of his robe was thrown back, and his long black hair was twisted in an elaborate braid that crawled down the front of his left shoulder. His face was covered by a short, scraggly beard that traced the line of his jaw, and Jerrod could make out the lingering traces of strange red markings scrawled on the skin of his cheeks and forehead—likely the fading tattoos from a recent spell.
    Rexol looked to be in his forties, but the monk knew the wizard was much older than he appeared; at least sixty by Ezra’s calculations. As it always did, the youthful visage unnerved him, a subtle reminder of the mage’s willingness to use Chaos to disrupt the natural order. Yet it also reinforced Ezra’s decision to recruit Rexol to their cause long ago.
    Jerrod had heard the rumors of how the Pontiff had aged two decades in a single night, the terrifying cost of using the power of the Order’s secret Talisman to kill Ezra. In contrast Rexol—a mage who had studied the ways of Chaos—had learned to harness the power of magic to keep himself young.
    â€œThere is a manuscript on the desk in my study,” the wizard said to his trembling apprentice, dismissing him from the conversation. “Go transcribe a copy so I can study it without damaging the original. I will deal with this visitor.”
    The heavyset young man looked quickly back and forth, his head turning several times from the wizard marching quickly forward from the tower to the monk standing calmly outside the gates. Rexol’s approach seemed to help him regain his composure.
    He gave a quick nod and muttered, “Of course, master,” before scurrying away, obviously glad to have an excuse to leave.
    â€œKhamin Ankha, my latest apprentice,” Rexol explained once the man had disappeared back into the tower. “Not particularly gifted, but his family is quite influential among the Free Cities of the North. They gave me sanctuary during the Purge.”
    â€œCan he be trusted?”
    Rexol laughed harshly, an unkind sound. “Khamin is too stupid to try and figure out why you are here, and too cowardly to do anything about it in any case.”
    â€œIf anyone finds out we are speaking—” Jerrod began.
    The wizard cut him off. “They won’t. Forget about Khamin. It will take that slack-minded fool the better part of the day to finish transcribing the passage I left for him. I regret that you had to meet him at all.”
    Jerrod decided to let the matter drop. With Ezra gone the mantle of leadership passed to him. He had more pressing matters to discuss with the wizard, and little enough time to do it.
    â€œI have troubling news. Something we should not be discussing out here on your doorstep.”
    â€œThen we will speak inside,” Rexol replied briskly. He gave a simple wave of his hand and the sealed iron gates opened, swinging inward.
    The monk scowled and shook his head before stepping through. “Chaos is not a toy to be played with.”
    â€œI doubt the Cataclysm was caused by all the wizards of the world opening their gates at the same time,” Rexol answered with a mocking grin.
    The sharpened tips of his gleaming white teeth stood out in stark relief against his red gums and black skin, giving his smile a savage—almost feral—appearance.
    A retort sprang to Jerrod’s lips, but he bit the words back. Arguing with Rexol would accomplish nothing. Instead he simply nodded and followed his host inside, leaving behind the unsettling stillness of the magic garden.
    The wizard led him into a small dining area in the back of the manse. As had happened with his previous visits, Jerrod felt more at ease once they were inside. The purpose of each room they passed through was readily apparent from the sparse yet functional furniture within: a study, a research laboratory, a library, a meditation