Free Wandering Lark by Laura J. Underwood Page A

a lust for wicked power. He’s a good young man, and he has saved the world at great risk to himself. Granted, his attachment to a greater demon makes him suspect, but he had no choice.”
    Thera nodded. “True, as the Brother teaches us, there are times when one must take a darker path for the good of all concerned.”
    “Both Fenelon and I fear that Turlough will not listen to the young man before he destroys him. So I need someone outside to assist me in finding Alaric Braidwine first.”
    “To whom would I need to deliver this missive?” Thera asked.
    “Wendon Stanewold,” Etienne said. “He’s one of the mageborn students here.”
    “Say no more. Write your missive, Mistress Savala, and it shall be as good as in his hands.”
    “You are certain?” Etienne said. “After all, if Turlough catches wind of any of this, I fear it would not go well for you.”
    Thera sighed. “Shall I tell you what my Mistress has said about him?”
    “Is it terrible?” Etienne asked.
    “Muchly so, and I am inclined to agree,” Thera said. “For Lord Magister Greenfyn always strikes me as a man who walks a precarious balance between good and evil... She says that he is mad, and that he was made so by love.”
    “This does not frighten you?” Etienne asked.
    Thera shook her head. “I do as the Blessed Brother of all Healers wills, Mistress Savala. I do not believe what you are proposing is for any ill. And I am certainly not convinced that what Lord Magister Greenfyn does is always right... I will take your missive, for that part is as simple as can be, and will not fault me in the least.”
    “Thank you, Thera,” Etienne said. “It may take me a little while to compose this missive...”
    “I shall wait,” Thera said and smiled. “And if you have no objection, I can sleep in one of the other rooms while you do...”
    “I have no objection at all, my dear,” Etienne said. “We’ve plenty of spare room.”
    “Thank you,” Thera said. She rose from the bench, bowed slightly and headed back inside.
    Etienne took a deep breath and looked at the sky. “Blessed Brother, you do still look after me, don’t you,” she said aloud.
    A white dove flitted overhead and landed on the rail. Etienne swore that it winked at her before it flew away. And where it had landed, she saw several sprigs of green. She rose from the bench and crossed over to the rail and lifted it for closer inspection.
    It was a sprig of mistletoe and a leaf of oak.
    Smiling, Eithne closed her hand over them, and whispered a silent thank you to the god of healers.
     
    The interior of the inn was loud and boisterous, but at the same time, rather nice. Alaric stepped through the door to a room full of good odors. Most predominant was the scent of roast venison. He could have stood there just enjoying that smell for hours had he not felt Vagner push up close beside him. In his head, the demon muttered, “ Pah... cooked meat .”
    Alaric smiled and automatically patted the demon’s hound head. I suppose you’d rather go out hunting fresh game ? he thought back.
    “Excuse me, good sir,” a voice said in the Aelfyn tongue, and Alaric stepped aside, startled to find several men and one woman in the black clothes of Temple Bounty Hunters attempting to get in around him.
    “My pardon, good sirs, my lady,” Alaric replied as he felt Ronan grow tense with dread. “I meant not to block the way, but the odor of the roast so entranced me.”
    “A bard,” one of the men said with a good-natured smile. “Better to be eating it than sniffing it, sir.”
    “Oh, most certainly,” Alaric said, and Ronan hissed, “Bow, Lark.” Alaric managed to execute a sweeping gesture without looking too startled or clumsy.
    His heart certainly thundered for a few moments. How am I to avoid them when they walk right up behind me ? he thought.
    “ Never mind ,” Ronan responded. “ Head for the bar . We must inquire about a room for the night . And this time, I’ll