Free The Iron Ring by Auston Habershaw Page A

to subside. He tried to roll away from Artus, but neither of his agony-­locked arms would obey.
    When at last his eyes cleared, Tyvian saw Artus standing over him, a look of wonder on his face. “What happened? Are you all right?”
    Tyvian managed to uncurl his ring hand—­aside from a faint ache that filled his arm, there was no physical sign of the pain the ring had inflicted upon him. When he spoke, he was short of breath. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
    Artus looked at him skeptically. “It’s that ring, isn’t it?”
    â€œWeren’t you trying to kill me a moment ago?”
    Artus ignored him. “I saw Eddereon put it on you, after we was pulled out. It glowed in the dark, real bright, too—­like the sun. You probably want if off, huh?”
    Tyvian looked up at the boy. If episodes like this kept happening all the way to Freegate, he was probably going to need a little help. Then, of course, there was the fact that he would need somebody to carry supplies, somebody to fetch things, somebody to keep watch at night . . . “I’ll pay you ten marks if you help me get to Freegate.”
    Artus looked around at the snow-­covered fields of Galaspin. The only thing in view besides the stream and the bridge was the tumble-­down remnants of a ruined watchtower. “Why should I?”
    â€œBecause it’s ten marks, that’s why.”
    Artus snorted a harsh laugh. “True enough. Well, I ain’t got nothing better to do. But lay off the insults, huh?”
    He reached down and helped Tyvian up.

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
    IN PURSUIT
    T he warm spiced wine coated Myreon Alafarr’s raw throat, but did little to calm her. She sat perched on the edge of the sturdy oak chair in the private library of the Thostering War Academy and found herself glancing at the ancient spirit clock every half minute. With her free hand, she tugged at the charred ruin of her braid. Cutting it off would have only taken a moment, but she didn’t feel like she had even that much time.
    Master Defender Ultan Tarlyth took a long drink from his goblet and set it down on the table. In his youth he had been a mountain of a man and a wrestler of some renown, and even now, in his old age, his wide shoulders filled the high-­backed chair. His lantern-­jawed face, though, looked on the young Mage Defender with kindness. “Saldor has opted not to continue pursuit.”
    Myreon leapt to her feet, nearly spilling her wine. “Reldamar’s alive—­I know it! With any luck, he’s injured and stuck somewhere. I need fifty men, some horses, another seekwand—­”
    Tarlyth held up a broad long-­fingered hand spotted with age. “Galaspin Tower’s complement is only seventy-­five, and half of those are already engaged in other activities.”
    â€œSwitch them off, then! This is Tyvian Reldamar we’re talking about!” Myreon barked, and then, remembering who she was talking to, added, “Master, he’s almost in our grasp!”
    â€œI know you are frustrated, Myreon—­I would be, too, if I had spent three of my five years bearing the staff chasing one man. You have to put things in perspective, however. Even presuming he is alive, Tyvian Reldamar is still only one wicked man in an ocean of wicked men. The fisherman who chases the whale to the exclusion of all others is the fisherman who goes hungry.”
    Myreon frowned and swirled the wine in her goblet. “With all due respect, Master Defender, Reldamar is not a fish. Two nights ago he killed two of my men, injured three others, released a wild gnoll into the Galaspin countryside, and was responsible for the destruction of an entire spirit engine—­and that was among the more minor of his offenses. I caught him peddling biomancy, sir—­ biomancy . What if Sahand of Dellor were to get his mitts on that?”
    Tarlyth nodded and put a