Free The Blackguard (Book 2) by Cheryl Matthynssens Page B

hadn’t fallen behind the hills yet, but it would soon. 
    It took a while for the memory of the landside to come to him, and when it did, Alador forced himself onto his knees with a groan. Henrick might still be buried, or he might be in the river. He could still be alive. Alador looked around, trying to get his bearings. The rockslide must have pushed the wagon over the edge and into the river that hadn’t been more than a few feet below them.
    The problem now was that Alador wasn’t familiar with the area, and had no idea how far downstream he’d gone. Based on the sun’s position at the cliff’s edge, he’d been out for at least an hour, which only gave him about two hours of usable light left. Alador patted himself down and noted that he had nothing but his knife, which thankfully hadn’t come free of its sheath on his belt.
    Alador forced himself to his feet. Based on the direction of the water’s flow, he was on the wrong side of the river. Just upstream, however, it looked like the river was calm enough that he’d be able to wade or swim across before it shoved him down to the next rapids. Alador forced himself to move, every muscle protesting. His boots were wet and uncomfortable, but he dared not take them off. He didn’t want them to shrink, and the thought of trying to cover the rocky ground barefoot was an unpleasant one.
    It took Alador about a quarter of an hour to work his way up to the head of the still water.  He waded out carefully, hoping the river would stay shallow enough for him to wade, rather than swim. Luck was not with him; Alador was forced to swim a good third of the distance. He finally stood on the other side, winded and shivering, and concerned that he felt so cold.
    Alador stood for a moment, hugging himself for warmth. He needed to get dry. He remembered the cantrips he’d worked on the morning before and focused. It took him longer to find that well within him, but when he did he focused his thoughts to dryness. Hoping this would work, Alador closed his eyes and pushed his hands down and out, imagining the water leaving him. He opened his eyes and frowned: he was steaming, but that wasn’t really what he needed. It was warmer, at least.
    He tried again, imagining the water returning to the river as he shoved down his hands and then pushed them to the river.  He smiled as the sense of wetness left him. He opened his eyes to find that, except for his boots and his belt, he was naked.
    “Dammit,” he muttered in frustration. Now what was he going to do? Yes, he was dry, but being naked was worse off in the wilderness. Not only that, but his knife had disappeared, as well. He should have just stayed wet. He had to get to Henrick, and he was delaying when time could be precious.
    “If you are done playing, we really have work to do before dark.” The lazy amused tones that could only belong to Henrick drew Alador’s eyes to the bank above him.
    “I was trying to get dry.” Alador muttered. His head hurt, his body hurt, and he was standing there, more embarrassed that the spell had failed than that he was without clothing.
    “You succeeded,” Henrick quipped back with a deep-throated laugh. “You appear quite dry.
    “Yes, we are all amused.” Alador’s anger was evident in his voice. His arms flailed about in frustration at his predicament. “Any suggestions on how I can get them back, and...Are you okay?” He frowned up and scrutinized the mage. Henrick seemed whole, and he was completely clean, as if they hadn’t just been wiped off the road by dirt and rock.
    “Yes, I am okay. You do not get to the fifth tier without learning a spell or two to protect yourself. Fortunately, you gave me enough warning. As for your more pressing need...” Henrick smirked. His finger went up and down Alador with clear amusement. “If you can take something away, then you can add it back. Its elements are around you. Well maybe, they could have floated down the river.” He tapped