Free Sword's Call by C. A. Szarek

the boy do it?
    Blessed Spirit, give us something.
    Hadrian rose from his stool and went over to a large bookcase in the corner of the room. Muttering in Aramourian, he spoke too low for Jorrin to catch what he said. He moved his hands back and forth, squinting to gain a better view.
    Just like the rest of the small cabin, the books were full of magic, too. They came forward of their own accord one by one so Hadrian could examine the titles. If it was not the book he was looking for, it would return itself to the shelf in order, and as if it had not been disturbed.
    “One of the reasons I failed when I tried was because I didn’t have anything that belonged to Braedon.” Hadrian returned to his stool, three thick tomes on his lap.
    The spell books looked old.
    Jorrin blinked away sudden emotion at the first mention of his father’s name. “It should work then, this time.” Without another word, he rose and went outside to where their horses were tied.
    Grayna neighed, so he took a moment to caress her nose, whispering to her and dropping a kiss on her wide forehead. She lifted her head and lipped his cheek, making him smile. With one last pat to her neck, he went to his saddlebag.
    He only had one thing that belonged to his father. His mother had given it to him when he was a little boy, and it’d comforted him many a time when he didn’t understand why his father had left. His hands bumped the cool metal.
    “Got it,” Jorrin whispered.
    He stared at the belt buckle, his heart pounding. It was meant to be decorative, a fire-breathing dragon etched into it. He ran his thumb over it, feeling the smooth embossed edges. Kissing the buckle, Jorrin sent a small prayer to the Blessed Spirit.
    Avery had to be correct, the scrying would work.
    When he returned to the dwelling, he tossed the buckle to Hadrian.
    The wizard hastily caught it. Hadrian smiled. “I remember when your mother bought this for him.” Jorrin just nodded, his voice caught in his throat.
    Avery sat at a wooden table Jorrin hadn’t noticed before, already poring over one of the spell books, the other two close beside him. His concentration on his task was complete. Had Cera’s cousin even noticed that he’d come back inside?
    “This is going to take a while,” Hadrian remarked, gesturing to Avery. “He’ll need my help. He caught me up on the goings on of that evil man and his shades. Magically speaking, there is much to do.” Then the elf smiled very gently at Cera. “Not to worry, Lady Ryhan, we’ll be as speedy as we can.”
     
    ****
     
    Time was slipping through her fingers.
    No one was listening to her.
    She needed to get to Tarvis.
    Cera needed to save what was left of her family, and she needed to defeat Varthan. “Time is what we don’t have.” Her voice came out cracked, week. Barely containing her threatening sob. Her throat ached.
    “Cera, we need to try,” her cousin urged, not looking up from his task.
    She sighed, her body limp, but her chest heavy.
    Avery was supposed to be on her side . . . they were his parents, after all.
    She hadn’t moved from the seat the wizard had first invited her into.
    Jorrin laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.
    Cera refused to acknowledge how his comfort made her heart skip a beat, how welcome it was. How she wanted more. When he’d held her by the fire that morning she’d never felt so safe, despite the fact she’d been crying like a weakling.
    Trikser whined and rose from the hearth rug, sitting at her feet and looking up at her, amber eyes warm, concerned. He rested his large head on her lap. She placed a hand between his ears, but it was an automatic response. “It’d better work,” she whispered.
    “It will work, cousin.” Avery looked up from the old tome. His gray eyes bored into her. “I’m as worried as you for my parents, but my mother wouldn’t have sent me away if she thought she couldn’t handle things, believe me. She can scry for us, too. Mother will